PROMETHEUS  :  THE  FALL 
OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON: 
SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

BY  RAMON  PEREZ  DE  AY  ALA 


[BRARY 


[HE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CAL  FORNIA 


LOSANGE   ES 


"24- 


PROMETHEUS :  THE  FALL 
OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIM6N : 
SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

POETIC  NOVELS  OF  SPANISH  LIFE 
BY  RAMO~N  P^REZ  DE  AYALA 

PROSE  TRANSLATIONS  BY  ALICE  P. 

HUBBARD:    POEMS  DONE  INTO 

ENGLISH  BY  GRACE  HAZARD 

C   O    N    K    L    I    N    G 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  &  CO. 

681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,  1920, 
ByiE.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  In  the  United  States  of  America 


College 
Library 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION  BY  HATWARD  KENISTON  vii 

PROMETHEUS 1 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON       ...  77 

SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  163 


INTRODUCTION 

Years  ago  Coventry  Patmore  called  atten- 
tion to  that  "complete  synthesis  of  gravity  of 
matter  and  gaiety  of  manner"  which  is  the 
crowning  glory  of  the  Spanish  mystics.  But 
this  is  not  the  only  miracle  of  art  in  Spanish 
literature;  with  equal  force  he  might  have 
dwelled  upon  another  almost  paradoxical  syn- 
thesis: the  fusion  of  gravity  of  manner  with 
gran  tacano  of  Quevedo.  Spain  is  a  land  of 
the  picaresque  tales  from  La  Celestina  to  El 
gran  tacano  of  Quevedo.  Spain  is  a  land  of 
contrasts,  of  violent  juxtapositions.  Its  great- 
est literary  masterpiece,  Don  Quixote,  is  the 
revelation  of  the  eternal  conflict  between  the 
inspired  dreamer  and  Philistine  society. 

In  literature,  as  in  the  other  arts,  the  em- 
phasis of  gravity  is  the  result  of  temperament. 
And  there  are  but  two  attitudes :  the  emotional 
and  the  intellectual.  According  as  the  art- 
ist sees  life  from  one  of  these  two  angles,  he 
will  concern  himself  primarily  with  matter  or 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

with  form.  Catullus  is  an  emotional  artist; 
Horace,  an  intellectual  artist.  And  concom- 
itantly  with  this  artistic  attitude, — cause  or 
effect, — goes  a  spiritual  attitude  toward  life; 
the  emotional  temperament,  the  Spanish  mys- 
tic let  us  say,  seeks  to  find  the  purpose  and 
end  of  life,  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  fu- 
ture; the  intellectual  temperament,  the  pica- 
roon satirist,  strives  to  analyze  life  itself,  to 
solve  the  riddle  of  the  present. 

This  dominant  concern  for  form,  this  con- 
scious effort  to  interpret  life  are  the  chief 
qualities  of  the  younger  generation  of  literary 
men  in  Spain  which  has  risen  to  prominence 
in  the  last  twenty  years ;  in  different  tones  they 
sound  the  common  harmony  in  such  men  as 
Baroja,  Valle-Inclan,  Azorin,  and  Unamuno. 
These  men  are  not  entertainers ;  they  are  first 
and  foremost  thinkers.  Bereft  of  the  lyrism 
of  the  past  generation,  imbued  with  the  mate- 
rialism of  the  present,  they  find  life  for  the 
most  an  immense  sarcasm,  where  self-seeking, 
cruelty,  and  injustice  are  triumphant,  but  still 
intrinsically  interesting  and  worth  realizing. 
Their  art  is  merciless,  but  meticulous ;  in  forms 
of  exquisite  finish  they  seek  to  clothe  even  the 
banalities  of  life  with  an  atmosphere  of  beauty. 


INTRODUCTION  is 

No  one  reveals  the  varied  aspects  of  this 
group  more  strikingly  than  Ramon  Perez  de 
Ayala.  As  poet,  as  novelist,  and  as  critic  he  is 
a  standard-bearer  of  the  Spanish  intellectuals, 
illustrating  perhaps  more  keenly  than  any  of 
his  contemporaries  the  spiritual  conflicts  of 
modern  life  and  the  paradoxical  synthesis  of 
uncommon  gravity  of  manner  and  capricious 
levity  of  matter. 

Ayala's  birthplace,  Oviedo,  a  provincial 
capital  of  Northern  Spain,  lies  between  the 
Montana  and  the  sea.  Something  of  the  in- 
fluence of  this  dual  environment  runs  through 
his  work.  The  spirit  of  the  mountains,  with 
their  vague  melancholy  of  immobility,  infuses 
his  first  collection  of  poems,  La  paz  del  sen- 
dero  ("The  Peace  of  the  Path"),  written  in 
1903,  when  the  author  had  just  crossed  the 
threshold  of  manhood.  In  the  companion 
volume,  El  sendero  innumerable  ("The  In- 
numerable Path"),  composed  thirteen  years 
later,  it  is  the  potent  restlessness  of  the  sea 
which  stirs  the  grown  man. 

Like  all  of  the  younger  generation  since 
Ruben  Dario,  he  uses  peregrine  forms:  the 
Alexandrine  quatrain,  revived  from  the  me- 
dieval maestria  de  clerecia  of  Berceo,  the  nine- 


x  INTRODUCTION 

syllable  and  the  hendecasyllable,  and  free 
verse,  as  well  as  the  traditional  Spanish  ballad 
and  redondilla.  And  his  variety  of  mood  is  no 
less  extensive.  He  has  heard  the  voice  of  Walt 
Whitman  and  of  D'Annunzio.  But  his  work 
remains  intensely  personal,  at  times  as  naively 
simple  as  a  primitive,  again  sardonically  satiri- 
cal. 

In  the  interval  between  the  publication  of 
these  poems,  Ayala  had  sought  another  me- 
dium of  expression,  the  novel.  The  four  works 
which  appeared  between  1908  and  1913  are  in 
reality  but  parts  of  a  single  work :  the  spiritual 
history  of  Alberto  Diaz  de  Guzman,  or,  if  you 
prefer,  Ramon  Perez  de  Ayala.  The  first  of 
the  group,  Tinieblas  en  las  cumbres  ("Dark 
on  the  Heights"),  published  under  the  pseu- 
donym of  "Plotino  Cuevas,"  is  the  story  of 
his  sojourn  in  the  sensual  garden  of  Circe. 
The  second  takes  us  back  to  the  period  of  his 
boyhood  training  in  a  Jesuit  school,  acridly 
pictured  in  A.  M.  D.  G.  ("Ad  maiorem  Dei 
gratiam").  The  third  of  the  series,  La  pata 
de  la  raposa  ("The  Fox's  Paw"),  tells  of  his 
conflict  between  the  two  impulses  of  individual 
freedom  and  social  order.  In  the  last,  which 
in  the  whole  structure  serves  as  an  interlude  in 


INTRODUCTION  ri 

the  preceding  work,  he  narrates  his  Descent 
into  Hell,  in  other  words,  his  life  among  the 
Troteras  y  danzaderas  of  Madrid. 

Though  they  bear  the  title  of  novelas,  these 
books  are  by  no  means  novels  in  the  hackneyed, 
American  sense  of  the  word.  Of  plot,  of 
straightforward  narrative  there  is  almost  noth- 
ing. The  events, — for  that  matter,  most  of  the 
characters, — are  purely  episodic.  Their  single 
unity  is  the  spirit  of  their  protagonist.  But 
each  episode  is  treated  with  singular  attention 
to  detail,  whether  it  be  a  baptism  or  a  bac- 
chanal, and  all  of  the  lesser  characters  possess 
a  plastic  reality  which  rivals  the  finest  crea- 
tions of  the  Spanish  tradition. 

Perez  de  Ayala  does  not  hesitate  to  use 
unconventional  means  to  secure  his  effects. 
Verses,  dialogues,  monologues,  scraps  of  un- 
related conversation, — everything  in  the  gam- 
ut of  human  expression  is  called  upon  to  con- 
tribute to  the  illumination  of  his  theme,  this 
story  of  the  unavailing  pilgrimage  of  the  mod- 
ern spirit.  And  this  complexity  of  form  cor- 
responds with  the  variety  of  situation.  For 
the  hero's  way  leads  him  as  often  into  the  mire 
of  society  as  into  those  neighboring  realms 
where  vice  and  virtue  are  alike  disguised  be- 


rii  INTRODUCTION 

neath  a  covering  of  pulchritude.  Yet  in  spite 
of  the  vulgarity  or  licentiousness  of  his  expe- 
riences, there  is  hardly  a  trace  of  eroticism; 
Perez  de  Ayala  is  no  disciple  of  Felipe  Trigo. 

In  style  these  novels  of  Ayala  mark  one  of 
the  great  achievements  in  modern  prose. 
Their  richness  of  vocabulary,  their  suppleness 
of  phrase,  and  their  brilliancy  of  color  are  por- 
tentous. If  in  the  earlier  works  the  author 
carries  his  concern  for  form  occasionally  to  the 
point  of  preciosity,  in  the  last  two  novels  he  has 
attained  a  sincerity  of  expression  which  is 
reminiscent  of  the  masters  of  the  past.  There 
is  none  of  the  conscious  archaicism  of  Ricardo 
Leon,  for  example,  but  rather  a  certain  vague 
flavor,  piquant  and  penetrating,  of  the  style 
of  Quevedo  or  Vicente  E spinel,  arising  from 
his  spiritual  fraternity  with  those  mordant 
critics  of  an  earlier  picaresque  society. 

A.  M.  D.  'G.  and  La  pata  de  la  raposa  have 
enjoyed  an  exceptional  popularity  in  Spain, 
the  former  partly  because  of  its  relation  to  a 
contemporary  political  question,  the  laicization 
of  public  instruction,  the  latter  wholly  because 
of  its  artistic  merit.  But  Ayala  has  turned  to 
another  form.  Already  in  Troteras  y  danza- 
deras  there  appears  a  sort  of  manifesto  of  a 


INTRODUCTION  riii 

new  theory  of  dramatic  criticism.  During  the 
last  years  he  has  devoted  himself  almost  wholly 
to  this  field,  in  which  he  has  already  published 
two  volumes  of  essays,  entitled  Las  mascaras 
("The  Masks"). 

Ayala  himself  says  that  he  was  first  led  to  a 
study  of  the  theory  of  the  drama  by  his  in- 
terest in  the  work  of  Perez  Galdos,  the  re- 
cently departed  master  with  whom  he  was  on 
terms  of  such  intimacy.  And  Galdos  has  re- 
mained to  him  the  one  great  dramatist  of 
modern  Spain,  to  the  exclusion  of  other  play- 
wrights who  have  enjoyed  a  much  larger  share 
of  the  popular  esteem.  Whether  we  can  fol- 
low him  or  not  in  this  judgment,  we  cannot 
fail  to  recognize  the  originality  and  the  sound- 
ness of  his  theories,  nor  the  acuteness  and  dis- 
cernment with  which  he  is  applying  them  to 
contemporary  drama,  outside  of  Spain  as  well 
as  at  home. 

His  impressions  of  a  trip  to  the  Italian 
battle-fronts  in  1917  are  recorded  in  Herman 
encadenado  ("Hermann  Enchained"),  an- 
other penetrating  analysis  of  the  psychological 
and  physical  conditions  in  Italy  before  the 
disaster  of  Caporetto.  In  the  following  year 
appeared  the  latest  of  his  works ;  a  new  collec- 


riv  INTRODUCTION 

tion  of  essays  with  the  title  Politica  y  toros 
("Politics  and  Bullfights"),  the  two  eternal 
themes  of  Spanish  conversation,  known  to 
their  Roman  forbears  as  "Bread  and  the  Cir- 


cus." 


Sooner  or  later  every  Spaniard  enters  poli- 
tics ;  when  a  Spanish  intellectual  enters  politics 
he  is  a  radical.  And  Ayala  had  already  given 
a  vague  indication  of  his  political  bent  in  two 
of  the  stories  contained  in  the  collection  of 
symbolic  tales  which  begins  with  Prometeo, 
mblished  in  1916. 

Prometheus  is  not  the  central  figure  of  the 
story  to  which  his  name  is  given;  his  father, 
Ulysses  the  Wanderer,  alias  Marco  de  Seti- 
fiano,  is  its  theme.  In  him  Ayala  has  created 
another  type,  after  the  fashion  of  Alberto  Diaz 
de  .Guzman;  his  pilgrimage  through  life  is 
whimsically  based  upon  the  Odyssey;  his  ul- 
timate disillusionment  and  failure  are  typical 
of  the  modern  style.  Marco  is  a  theorist  and  a 
dreamer;  experience  with  grim  irony  shatters 
his  house  of  dreams.  But  does  that  mean  that 
his  dream  was  not  worth  while?  Ayala  an- 
swers with  a  paradox:  "The  men  who  fail  are 
the  leaven  of  humanity,"  which  is  only  another 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

way  of  saying  that  it  is  the  effort,  not  the 
result,  which  is  all-important. 

The  other  two  stories  of  the  collection,  Luz 
de  doming o  ("Sunday  Sunlight")  and  "La 
caida  de  los  Limones"  ("The  Fall  of  the 
House  of  Limon")  are  of  a  different  type,  per- 
ilously close  to  the  novel  of  propaganda.  Their 
purpose  is  plainly  to  scourge  the  evils  of  cad- 
quismo,  the  Spanish  form  of  political  "boss- 
ism,"  as  it  flourishes  in  the  rural  districts  and 
in  provincial  capitals.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
read  between  the  lines  to  hear  a  call  to  revolt. 

Each  chapter  in  these  tales  opens  with  a 
brief  poem,  in  which  the  author  foreshadows 
the  psychological  mood  of  the  chapter,  a  device 
which  inevitably  suggests  the  musings  and 
forebodings  of  the  chorus  of  Attic  tragedy; 
they  form  an  organic  part  of  the  whole,  as  es- 
sential to  it  as  thought  to  the  brain.  Ayala'si 
poetic  gift  has  nowhere  found  more  perfect 
expression  that  in  these  crystallizations  of  a 
fleeting  mood.  And  the  same  perfection  is 
evident  in  his  prose.  Only  in  Dostoyevski  or 
the  other  modern  Russian  novelists  is  there 
found  such  poignant  power  to  evoke  the  latent 
significance  of  scenes  and  even  objects  or  to 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

characterize  with  a  single,  scintillating  phrase 
a  personality. 

Ayala's  work  is  not  merely  entertaining;  it 
is  not  for  those  who  do  not  think,  who  suspect 
that  thinking  is  incompatible  with  good  form 
and  the  permanence  of  the  established  order, 
and  who  demand  of  the  books  they  read  the 
same  innocuous  vacuity.  For  he  is  primarily 
a  thinker,  charging  his  work  with  the  breadth 
of  his  reading  and  the  rich  fruit  of  his  personal 
observation  and  reflection  on  life.  If  his  read- 
ers stop  to  hear  his  message,  they  will  be 
troubled,  baffled,  perhaps  stirred  to  indigna- 
tion, but  they  will  be  stimulated  with  a  new 
faith  in  life,  for  life's  sake. 

HAYWARD  KENISTON. 


PROMETHEUS 


TO  MIGUEL  RODRIGUEZ  ACOSTA 


I-RHAPSODY 

BYWAY 

OF 

PROLOGUE 

HOW  THE 
MODERN 
ODYSSEUS 
MET  WITH 
THE  MODERN 
NAUSICAA 


Why  leave  the  land  of  unhappy 
hours 

In  search  of  fresh  adventure 

If  these  lost  hours  are  your  com- 
panions, 

If  the  dust  of  the  day's  journey 

On  sandal  and  vestment 

Ooes  with  you? 

Whatever  way  you  travel  .   .   . 

Foot-path  .  .  .  by-way  .  .  . 
highroad  .  .  . 

Always  in  eyes  and  mouth 

The  bitterness  of  the  dust 

Of  a  strange  land! 

You  will  never  reach  the  longed- 
for 

Destination. 

Tour  hand  will  not  relinquish  the 

staff. 

Doomed  to  wander 
You    will    know    yourself    in    the 

deeps  of  the  heart 
Forever  an  exile. 

Do  not  travel  by  land! 
Make  your  way  across  the  sea. 
Set  foot  upon  shores  of  mystery, 
As  if  born  to  a  new  life. 

On  an  unknown  course 

The  sea-chariot  goes  flying, 

Owing  its  canvas  sails 

To  the  wind. 

No  dust  arises  on  its  journey: 

And  the  bough  of  an  oak-tree 

Glories  at  the  prow. 

Govern   your   own   soul:    be   self- 

sufflcient. 

Make  of  your  life  a  colossal  dream 
Ceaselessly  renewed. 
Cling  to  the  floating  spar, 
Strike  out  across  the  sea. 


PROMETHEUS 


HE  adventure  befell  more  or 
less  as  it  is  related  by  the  bard 
Homer,  him  of  the  eyes  with- 
out light.  The  events,  as  fre- 
quently fortunate  as  ill-fated, 
which  preceded  the  adventure,  likewise  the  ac- 
companying circumstances,  reproduce  the 
ancient  fable,  even  though  changed  times  have 
introduced  slight  variations.  Events,  circum- 
stances and  variations  afford  more  than  suffi- 
cient material  for  a  preliminary  rhapsody,  and 
therefore  the  narrator  finds  himself  forced  into 
a  summary  account.  Thus,  what  in  epic  ages 
was  an  heroic  chant,  to  the  sound  of  the  cither, 
is  to-day  a  mute  and  graphic  voice,  that  is  to 
say,  the  written  word,  with  no  other  accom- 
paniment than  the  languid  stridency  of  the 
metallic  pen  over  the  perishable  paper.  The 
bard  has  degenerated  into  a  novelist. 

Sing,  oh  meddlesome  goddess  of  these  ple- 
3 


4  PROMETHEUS 

beian  days;  goddess  of  impertinent  curiosity 
and  prying  boredom,  who  hast  no  joy  unless 
it  be  in  raking  over  the  ashes  of  thy  neighbor's 
hearth!  Sing,  I  tell  thee,  the  rare  emprises  of 
love  and  fortune  of  the  modern  Odysseus,  a 
man  magnanimous,  astute  when  occasion  re- 
quired, like  to  the  Immortals  in  his  eminence,  in 
his  corpulence,  in  the  breadth  of  his  shoulders, 
and  in  his  predilection  for  ambrosial  beverages, 
in  common  speech,  alcoholic  drinks,  which  de- 
lightfully cloud  the  brain,  and  cause  one  to 
break  forth  into  Olympic  laughter,  and  other 
follies,  wholly  useless:  for  the  Immortals, 
guests  of  the  limitless  Ouranos,  differ  from 
poor  mortals  in  that,  having  in  their  own 
hands  the  dominion  of  incalculable  time,  they 
are  not  enslaved  by  minute  practical  en- 
deavors, and  act  always  in  a  fashion  that  to 
us  seems  inconsistent  and  nonsensical.  Sing, 
or  relate,  oh  tattle-tale,  gossiping  goddess! 
how  the  divine  Odysseus,  born  in  the  city  where 
Ares  was  dashed  down  by  the  Baptist,  set  out 
for  sacred  Ilios,  the  citadel  of  which  he  took 
by  virtue  of  his  genius;  how,  later,  he  visited 
the  land  of  the  lotus-eaters,  whose  fare  is  a 
flower  which  causes  loss  of  memory,  and  grants 
the  sweet  gift  of  f orgetf ulness ;  how,  fleeing 


PROMETHEUS  5 

from  them,  he  suffered  ills  without  number, 
and  fell  at  length  into  the  arms  of  the  vener- 
able and  enchanting  Circe,  of  the  abundant 
tresses;  how,  thanks  to  Hermes,  god  of  the 
golden  wand,  who  in  every  respect  preserves 
his  youthful  beauty,  he  escaped  from  the  ma- 
lignant, ardent  Circe  and  descended  to  the 
dwellings  of  Hades,  a  sorrowful  land,  bloom- 
ing with  asphodels,  through  which  wander  the 
empty  phantoms  of  those  who  have  ceased  to 
live,  and  how  he  there  questioned  about  the 
inscrutable  future  the  Theban  Tiresias,  seer 
of  far-reaching  fame  in  mythic  antiquity,  and 
how  hearing  him,  and  rinding  himself  sur- 
rounded by  incorporeal  shades,  the  illustrious 
and  subtle  Odysseus,  in  spite  of  his  immutable 
soul,  felt  in  his  limbs  the  pallid  terror;  how 
his  companions  slaughtered  and  ate  the  flocks 
of  Helios,  who  beholds  all  things,  and  moved 
the  Immortals  to  vengeance ;  how  the  excellent 
Odysseus,  in  like  fashion  as  other  less  excel- 
lent and  not  at  all  excellent  mortals,  moved 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  or,  as  we  say, 
went  from  Herod  to  Pilate;  and  how  he  idled 
in  his  own  despite  in  the  pleasant  lair  of  the 
caressing  nymph  Calypso;  sing  or  narrate 
above  all,  oh  goddess  who  presumest  to  a  wis- 


6  PROMETHEUS 

dom  thou  dost  not  possess!  how  the  modern 
Odysseus  met  Nausicaa  of  the  snowy  arms,  be- 
cause this  is  the  only  thing  that  truly  interests 
us  at  this  point. 

Perhaps  more  than  one  reader  may  take  a 
fancy  to  this  invocation,  as  prolix  as  it  is  mys- 
terious. Let  us  add  an  observation:  the  many 
N.  allusions  with  which  it  is  interwoven  will  have 
later  their  exact  interpretation  or  explanation. 
And  now  we  begin  the  story. 

The  magnificent  Odysseus  had  now  to  his 
credit  forty  days  in  the  power  of  the  wheedle- 
some  nymph  Calypso;  forty  days  which  he 
imagined  as  many  years.  The  modern  nymph 
did  not  dwell  in  a  cave,  but  in  a  country  house, 
distant  from  town  by  as  far  as  a  shout  can  be 
heard,  to  employ  the  system  of  topographical 
measurement  of  Homer  himself;  a  system 
somewhat  elastic,  because  if  the  house  be  near 
the  sea,  the  loud  murmur  of  the  waves  drowns 
the  human  voice  before  it  has  reached  half  its 
distance.  It  is  meant  by  this  that  even  though 
the  house  stood  out  in  isolation,  all  neat  and 
spotless  in  the  midst  of  a  garden,  the  surround- 
ing region  abounded  in  groups  of  laborers' 
houses,  and  in  mariners'  cottages.  Farm- 
houses and  cottages  did  not  crowd  one  another, 


PROMETHEUS  7 

nor  did  they  lean  one  upon  the  other  forming  a 
hamlet,  much  less  a  town,  but  each  one  went  off 
in  its  own  direction,  scattered  hither  and  yon, 
in  the  shelter  of  a  hillock,  or  in  the  shadow  of 
a  figtree.  The  garden  of  the  nymph  was  of 
great  pleasantness.  There  grew  the  willow, 
the  poplar,  and  the  odorous  cypress,  where  the 
birds  who  fly  afar  come  to  build  their  nests; 
the  hawk,  and  the  garrulous  sea-raven  which 
is  always  made  uneasy  by  the  whispering  of 
the  foliage.  Four  rivulets  ran  along,  with- 
drawing or  joining  together,  in  the  fashion  of 
a  net,  with  the  limpid  waters  of  which  the 
gentle  fields  grew  green,  and  violets  and  very 
many  other  flowers  in  every  kind  blossomed 
forth.  Over  the  front  of  the  house  a  virgin 
grape-vine  clung  tremulous  with  unripe  clus- 
ters. Such  was  the  mansion  of  Calypso,  who, 
it  must  be  said  in  passing,  and  in  honor  of  the 
truth,  was  not  called  Calypso,  because  she  was 
named  Frederica  ,G6mez,  and  was  the  childless 
widow  of  a  colonist  who  had  returned,  wealthy 
and  enervated,  from  South  America.  Nor  was 
Odysseus  named  Odysseus  either,  but  his  true 
name  shall  be  disclosed  when  the  opportune 
moment  presents  itself. 

Frederica   and   Odysseus   were   living   to- 


8  PROMETHEUS 

gather,  imperfectly  united  by  unrequited  affec- 
tion, for  Odysseus  did  not  respond  to  the  pas- 
sion of  Frederica.  Odysseus  was  desirous  of 
departing;  but  whenever  he  found  out  a  way  of 
escape,  Frederica  held  him  back  with  tears, 
wails,  and  commotion.  To  try  to  forget  his 
anguish,  and  under  pretext  that  he  was  very 
fond  of  swimming,  Odysseus  spent  almost  all 
the  day  in  the  sea.  He  swam  like  a  Triton. 
He  would  go  out  into  the  open  sea,  and  spend 
four  or  five  hours  swimming  continuously. 
And  when  he  was  not  in  his  bath,  he  sought 
shelter  in  the  aloofness  of  a  wood,  where  he 
sighed  deeply  for  his  lost  liberty,  until  he 
determined  in  his  mind  to  escape.  And  thus  it 
befell.  In  odd  moments  he  began  to  cut  down 
trunks  of  trees  which  then  he  bound  one  to  an- 
other, tying  them  with  hempen  ropes  in  the 
form  of  a  raft.  Of  all  this  industry  nobody 
had  a  suspicion,  and  least  of  all  Frederica. 
When  the  contrivance  was  ready,  Odysseus 
paid  some  laborers  to  take  it  down  to  the 
beach,  at  dusk.  After  supper,  Odysseus  said 
he  was  going  into  the  garden  to  smoke  a  ciga- 
rette. He  went  out  one  door,  and  entered  by 
another  stealthily;  he  went  upstairs  to  steal  a 
sheet,  and  again  went  out  with  as  much  rapid- 


PROMETHEUS  9 

ity  as  if  Hermes,  god  of  perennial  youth,  who 
has  wings  on  his  ankles,  were  carrying  him  sus- 
pended in  air.  .  .  .  Nevertheless  he  stopped 
at  a  tavern  to  buy  sundry  bottles  of  red  nectar 
and  crystalline  ambrosia,  which  the  tavern 
keeper,  a  layman  in  matters  mythological,  de- 
nominated wine  and  whiskey.  Odysseus 
reached  the  shore,  bared  his  legs,  and  pushed 
the  raft  into  the  water  with  great  difficulty  and 
delay.  In  the  meantime,  Frederica,  lashed  by 
impatience,  also  went  into  the  garden,  and  as 
she  did  not  run  across  Odysseus,  and  the  latter 
replied  not  to  plaintive  solicitations,  she  felt  in 
her  heart  a  foreboding  of  serious  disaster.  She 
left  the  garden,  scoured  various  farmhouses, 
and  passed  by  the  tavern  where  they  informed 
her  that  Odysseus  had  gone  beachward.  In 
that  direction,  then,  ran  the  afflicted  nymph; 
at  the  very  moment  when  the  fugitive  had  suc- 
ceeded at  last  in  floating  his  contrivance.  With 
oars  manufactured  for  the  occasion,  Odysseus 
was  rowing  rapidly  towards  the  somber  sea. 

"Man  alive!  What  are  you  up  to?"  asked 
Frederica. 

"Fleeing,  my  friend,  as  you  see.  I  have 
broken  the  irksome  bond  in  which  you  held  me. 
I  am  going  at  random,  I  know  not  where. 


10  PROMETHEUS 

What  matter!  Any  servitude  or  punishment 
whatever  will  be  better  than  the  yoke  of  your 
roly-poly  arms,  because,  convince  yourself,  oh 
estimable  friend!  you  are  now  somewhat  past 
your  prime.  Ah !  I  am  carrying  off  a  sheet  of 
heavy  linen  which  belongs  to  you,  but  in  ex- 
change I  leave  you  two  suits  of  fine  woolen ;  all 
my  underclothes,  which  are  in  good  condition; 
some  patent  leather  shoes;  some  dull  calfskin 
boots;  and  some  alpargatas.*  You  come  out 


winner." 


Frederica  first  tore  her  hair;  then  broke 
forth  into  imprecations  and  sorrowful  suppli- 
cations; and  finally,  giving  up  all  for  lost,  she 
screamed,  "Wicked  devils  take  you!"  and 
stretched  out  her  clenched  hands  toward  the 
sea,  as  if  invoking  the  furies  of  Poseidon,  him 
who  rules  the  waters  and  makes  the  earth 
tremble  when  it  so  pleases  him.  Meanwhile 
Odysseus  had  been  lost  to  view. 

It  was  an  August  night,  diaphanous,  and 
seething  with  golden  constellations.  Odys- 
seus, resourceful  in  devices,  erected  a  mast  in 
the  center  of  the  raft,  and  with  another  stick 
as  crossbeam,  and  with  the  sheet,  set  up  a  sail 

*  Shoes  with  canvas   tops   and  hempen   soles,  kept  on  the 
foot  and  bound  about  the  ankles  with  a  lacing. — Translator. 


PROMETHEUS  11 

as  one  does  a  banner.  He  drank  unhurriedly 
a  bottle  of  crimson  nectar,  and  threw  himself 
down  to  sleep.  And  thus  he  went  sailing,  be- 
neath the  sentinel  stars,  over  the  swelling  and 
gentle  sea.  He  awoke  late  in  the  morning. 
The  sun  was  shining  almost  perpendicularly. 
Odysseus  stretched  himself,  and  breathed  as 
deeply  as  if  he  wanted  to  drink  up  the  firma- 
ment. He  breakfasted  off  white  ambrosia, 
and  cold  meats  which  he  had  in  his  pocket. 
He  looked  about  him.  A  promontory  rose 
from  the  neighboring  coast,  with  reefs  at 
its  base  amid  foam.  On  its  summit,  a  light- 
house. And  the  huge  mass  was  like  the  prow 
of  a  vessel  painted  scarlet.  On  either  side,  the 
land  fell  away  toward  the  horizon,  silvery 
green  in  color  like  the  olive.  The  gulls  were 
soaring,  giving  forth  long  cries,  and  from  time 
to  time  appeared  a  wild  duck  with  burnished 
throat  extended,  like  a  work  of  the  ceramic 
arts.  Out  at  sea  could  be  seen  a  line  of  barks 
for  tunny  fishing,  the  sails  of  yellowish  ochre. 
And  Odysseus  experienced  a  marvelous  ex- 
pansion, as  if  he  were  lord  of  heaven  and 
earth. 

"That  must  be  Cape  Roquedeira,"  he  mur- 


12  PROMETHEUS 

mured.    "In  any  case,  be  it  what  it  may,  what 
does  it  matter?" 

He  drew  in  the  sail,  put  off  all  attire,  and 
cast  himself  into  the  water.  He  swam  several 
hours,  now  putting  off  from  the  raft,  now 
resting  against  it.  And  when  he  got  out  of 
the  water,  the  sun  was  already  shining  low. 
He  let  the  air  dry  him,  and  having  dressed, 
once  more  hoisted  sail,  and  left  the  course  of 
the  raft  to  the  will  of  the  gods.  And  the  raft 
followed  the  outline  of  the  gloomy  shore. 
Now  Odysseus  perceived  the  mouth  of  a  large 
river,  which  melted  into  the  sea  with  mournful 
plaint.  And  before  the  moon  could  peep  out 
on  the  horizon,  the  wrathful  Poseidon,  as  if  he 
showed  himself  propitious  to  the  prayers  of 
Frederica,  drew  himself  erect  in  all  his  mem- 
bers. The  great  waves,  full  of  violence, 
heaved  the  raft  from  side  to  side.  In  the 
same  fashion  as  autumnal  Boreas  drives  over 
the  plain  the  dried  leaves,  so  the  winds  drove 
the  raft  from  one  side  to  another.  Now  Euros 
gave  place,  that  Zephyros  might  pull  it;  now 
Notos  gave  in  to  Boreas.  And  the  raft  was 
broken  into  shivers.  Odysseus  bestrode  one 
of  the  tree  trunks  as  if  it  were  an  unbroken 
horse,  but  to  no  purpose;  and  at  last  he  had 


PROMETHEUS  13 

to  fight  hand  to  hand  with  the  innumerable 
raging  waves.  He  was  giving  himself  up  for 
lost,  when  the  sea  spat  him  out  upon  the  sand. 
By  dragging  himself  along,  he  reached  a 
meadow  in  which  were  fragrant  shrubs.  He 
was  naked  and  exhausted.  Darkness  envel- 
oped him.  And  there,  beneath  a  shrub,  he  fell 
asleep. 

While  the  patient  Odysseus  lay  sleeping, 
vanquished  by  sleep  and  fatigue,  not  far  from 
the  bush  which  served  him  as  shelter  in  a 
house  furnished  with  unusual  lavishness  slum- 
bered also  the  virgin  Nausicaa,  of  the  ala- 
baster arms,  like  to  the  immortal  goddesses  for 
her  loveliness  and  grace.  She  slept  and 
dreamed.  She  dreamed  she  heard  a  voice  say- 
ing to  her: 

"Nausicaa,  why  were  you  born  so  neglect- 
ful? Why  don't  you  take  pains  to  dress  your- 
self in  the  best  and  most  becoming  things 
that  you  possess?  Your  beautiful  clothes  lie 
forgotten.  Prepare  yourself,  for  the  hour  of 
your  betrothal  draws  nigh,  and  now  you  will 
not  be  a  maiden  much  longer." 

When  Nausicaa  awoke,  she  said  to  herself: 

"What  a  droll  dream!  If  I  believed  in 
omens " 


14  PROMETHEUS 

But  as  you  never  can  tell,  she  put  on  her 
loveliest  garments,  and,  having  breakfasted, 
in  company  with  several  other  maidens,  two 
of  them  her  sisters,  and  two  her  friends,  she 
went  down  to  a  meadow  adorned  here  and 
there  with  flowering  shrubs,  at  the  farthest 
boundary  of  the  estate,  close  to  the  shore. 
They  rode  in  a  vehicle  half  cart,  half  car- 
riage, drawn  by  a  donkey  named  Agamem- 
non, and  they  carried  sheets  for  the  bath,  and 
rackets  with  which  to  play  battledore  and 
shuttlecock.  Their  hair  flying,  they  began  the 
game  with  a  great  hubbub,  so  that  they  awoke 
the  crafty  Odysseus,  who,  seeing  the  maids, 
knew  not  what  to  do.  Hunger  gnawed  his 
entrails,  and  impelled  him  to  show  himself; 
but  he  dared  not  for  fear  of  frightening  the 
damsels.  But  it  befell  that  a  shuttlecock 
lighted  where  Odysseus  was.  And  the  girl 
who  ran  up  to  recover  it  cried  out  frightened : 

"A  man,  and  naked!" 

Before  a  prospect  so  horrifying,  the 
maidens  fled.  Only  Nausicaa  remained,  be- 
cause her  heart  was  strong  and  fearless,  and 
she  divined  some  misfortune. 

Odysseus  tore  off  a  great  leafy  branch  with 
which  to  cover  his  nakedness,  and  walking  on 


PBOMETHEUS  15 

his  knees,  he  approached  Nausicaa,  and  spoke 
as  follows : 

"I  beg  a  favor  of  thee,  be  thou  goddess  or 
mortal.  If  thou  art  a  goddess,  of  those  who 
inhabit  the  boundless  Ouranos,  thou  seemest 
to  me  Artemis,  daughter  of  the  great  Zeus, 
for  thy  beauty,  thy  stature,  and  thy  comeli- 
ness. If  thou  art  a  mortal,  of  those  who  in- 
habit earth,  thrice  blessed  thy  venerable  par- 
ents, thrice  blessed  thy  brothers  and  sisters; 
but  happier  than  all  he  who,  lavishing  upon 
thee  marriage  gifts,  shall  lead  thee  to  his 
home.  I  have  been  shipwrecked " 

Nausicaa,  at  the  same  moment  that  she  re- 
garded Odysseus  as  the  handsomest  man  she 
had  ever  seen  in  her  life,  murmured  in  an  un- 
dertone: 

"Poor  wretch!    He  has  lost  his  mind " 

And  Odysseus,  who  heard  her: 

"No,  I  haven't  lost  it  yet,  though  I  fear  to 
do  so  if  I  contemplate  you  much  longer." 

And  then,  with  a  sudden  change: 

"Help  me.  See  to  providing  me  with  some- 
thing which  will  make  me  presentable.  I  am 
an  honorable  man  and  of  gentle  birth.  I  have 
suffered  many  evils,  and,  last  of  all,  shipwreck. 
Besides,  I  am  fainting  with  hunger.  Later  I 


16  PROMETHEUS 

shall  relate  to  you  my  life  and  miracles. 
Grace!" 

Nausicaa,  turning  to  the  other  maidens, 
shouted : 

"Come  back!  Don't  be  silly.  Bring  one 
of  the  bath  sheets  for  this  man  to  cover  him- 
self." 

And  then,  addressing  herself  to  the  subtle 
and  magnanimous  Odysseus: 

"Come  home  with  us,  and  there  you  shall 
eat  something,  and  we  shall  see  if  my  broth- 
ers' clothes  fit  you." 


II— ODYSSEUS   Odysseus>  vagabond  king, 

The  gods  of  the  blue  Ouranot 
Already    have    delayed    for    many 

years 

Your  home-coming: 
When  out  of  exile 
You  return 

Home  to  sweet  Ithaca, 
Will  your  thanes  know  you? 

The  king  turned  beggar, 

Who  will  say  it  is  the  king  of  old? 

Who  now  recalls 

His  face? 

But  Odysseus  has  a  bow  so  mighty 

No  other  living  man, 

Odysseus  and  no  other 

May  set  the  arrow  free. 

Heaven  is  the  target 

Toward  which  the  king  aims. 

Bow  in  hand 

The  king  aims  at  heaven  itself. 

Will  the  arrow  attain  such  height? 

The  arrow  lost  itself 

In  the  sky. 

You*  like  myself, 

All  of  us,  Brother, 

We  are  as  Odysseus: 

Each  possesses  a  bow 

Useless  to  other  men, 

To  one  man  only 

Alive  and  responsive: 

Each  aims  at  the  sky. 

If  any  one  fail  .  .  .  coward! 


II 


DYSSEUS  was  professor  of 
Greek  language  and  literature 
in  the  University  of  Letters  of 
Pilares.  It  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that,  granted  his  pro- 
fession, he  should  be  much  given  to  employing 
Homeric  locutions.  This  false  Odysseus  was 
a  great  friend  of  ours.  Hence  it  is  that  recall- 
ing, as  we  recall,  very  vividly  his  manners  and 
character,  having  felt  ourselves,  for  a  moment, 
beneath  the  spell  of  that  powerful  personality, 
we  have  begun  to  relate  his  true  history  in  a 
style  allegoric,  epic,  and  obedient  to  no  rules. 
In  his  ecstasies  of  Bacchic  enthusiasm,  which 
were  sufficiently  frequent,  he  used  to  say  he 
was  Odysseus.  Because  in  him  the  heroic  was 
mingled  with  the  humorous,  Odysseus  was  the 
hero  of  antiquity  whom  most  he  loved  and  ad- 
mired. Whenever  he  read  the  Odyssey,  he 
wept  bitter  tears,  not  of  exaltation,  but  of  sad- 
ness, as  an  exile  in  time  who  had  been  born 
thirty  centuries  too  late. 

18 


PROMETHEUS  19 

The  modern  Odysseus  figured  on  the  pay- 
roll under  the  name  of  Mark  de  Setifiano. 
But  this  was  not  his  true  name  either.  He 
was  really  called  John  Perez  Setignano. 

He  was  born  in  Florence,  a  city  which  in 
ages  of  paganism  had  for  its  tutelary  divinity 
the  god  Ares,  according  to  the  Greeks,  or 
Mars,  according  to  the  Latins,  and  later,  when 
the  new  law  of  Christ  prevailed,  placed  itself 
under  the  patronage  of  the  Baptist.  His 
father  was  a  Spaniard;  his  mother  an  Italian, 
of  aristocratic  lineage.  His  father  had  been  a 
handsome  youth,  distinguished  for  his  hand- 
some face  and  his  indolence,  a  quality  by 
which,  according  to  some  authorities,  one 
can  see  that  man  is  of  divine  origin.  The  idle- 
ness of  this  great  man,  who  was  called  An- 
tonio Perez  Fillol,  was,  I  need  not  say,  more 
than  godlike;  for  never  did  he  do  aught  else 
than  eat,  sleep,  and  make  love  to  women,  or 
rather  better,  let  himself  be  made  love  to.  He 
was  the  son  of  Antonio  Perez  Novella,  a  medi- 
ocre painter,  born  in  Murcia,  who  had  estab- 
lished himself  permanently  in  Florence,  and 
is  there  buried.  He  also  was  a  fine-looking 
fellow,  for  beauty,  distinction,  and  proud 
bearing  were  the  only  heritage  of  the  family. 


20  PROMETHEUS 

With  the  attractive  qualities  of  Antonio  Perez 
Fillol,  and  his  splendid  presence,  Beatrice  de 
Setignano  became  enamored.  She  was  a 
young  Florentine,  winsome,  discreet,  of  noble 
blood,  and  not  ill-provided  for  as  regards  for- 
tune. They  married  and  had  a  son,  John; 
the  wife  died  at  the  end  of  seven  or  eight  years, 
and  when  the  fine-looking  youth,  now  wid- 
owed, had  consumed  the  money  his  wife  had 
left,  he  took  himself  out  of  the  way  by  throw- 
ing himself  into  the  Arno.  The  son  was  then 
somewhere  about  sixteen.  Some  maternal 
uncles  took  him  in  charge  until  he  finished 
college.  He  had  turned  out  like  his  father 
and  grandfather :  of  unusual  stature,  vigorous, 
his  features  clearly  cut,  regular,  and  manly. 
From  childhood  he  had  been  taciturn  and 
haughty.  He  took  no  part  in  childish  games, 
but  went  about  solitary,  imagining  unheard-of 
emprises.  His  mind  was  tortured  with  dreams 
and  formless  chimeras.  In  the  crisis  of  adoles- 
cence, and  at  the  death  of  his  father,  his  tem- 
perament changed.  It  seemed  to  him  he  al- 
ready felt  himself  a  man,  wholly  free,  master 
of  himself  and  the  future.  He  mingled  in  the 
youthful  society  of  other  students,  and  while 
he  attended  with  delight  his  university  courses, 


PROMETHEUS  21 

he  devoted  himself  noticeably  to  developing 
strength  and  agility  of  body.  He  early  con- 
tracted the  vice  of  drink.  The  very  day  he 
took  his  degree  of  doctor  of  letters,  his  uncle 
took  him  aside,  and  addressed  him  as  follows: 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  your  father  ran 
through  your  mother's  fortune,  all  of  it  ex- 
cept sixty  thousand  liras  which  he  could  not 
get  his  hands  on  because  I  had  them  safely 
put  by.  These  sixty  thousand  liras  are  at 
your  disposal.  On  these,  as  you  will  under- 
stand, one  cannot  live,  but  I  consider  them  no 
trifling  help  to  enable  you  to  see,  thinking  the 
matter  over  thoroughly  and  calmly,  what  you 
are  to  do,  and  over  what  road  you  are  going 
to  travel.  You  have  in  your  favor  all  that  a 
man  could  desire  at  the  beginning  of  life.  If 
you  fail,  on  you  will  be  the  blame.  While 
you  are  picking  out  your  path,  my  house  is 
yours." 

After  the  interview,  John  locked  himself  up 
to  meditate.  He  did  not  know  what  to  decide 
upon.  He  scrutinized  the  future,  and  all 
horizons  seemed  to  him  too  limited  for  his 
ambition.  He  had  an  heroic  soul,  and  knew 
not  what  he  wished,  what  to  resolve.  If  he 
had  been  asked,  "Should  you  like  to  be  king?" 


22  PROMETHEUS 

he  would  have  replied,  "Pshaw!"  and  made  a 
wry  face.  He  wanted  to  be  himself,  his  very 
self,  but  in  a  manner  he  could  not  as  yet  de- 
fine; he  wanted  his  own  glorification  to  a 
maximum  degree,  like  a  great  dyke  raised  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream  of  time,  which 
gathers  and  restrains  the  waters  of  the  past 
in  a  quiet  and  deep  lake,  and  then  casts  them 
over  into  the  future  in  an  imposing  and  im- 
petuous cataract.  In  a  word,  so  vague  were 
his  aspirations  that  he  decided  to  wait  until 
they  should  grow  clearer  and  become  more 
concrete.  From  that  moment  he  withdrew 
from  social  intercourse,  and  applied  himself 
to  reading  and  studying.  Most  of  the  hours 
of  the  day  and  night  he  spent  at  his  books. 
And  the  hours  of  rest  he  devoted  to  exercis- 
ing himself  in  gallant  and  violent  activities; 
swimming,  horseback  riding.  Whenever  his 
uncle  asked  him,  "Are  you  considering  some- 
thing?" he  would  reply,  "I  don't  know  yet. 
I  am  studying.  I  am  thinking  deeply.  In 
any  case,  I  shall  not  have  lost  time,  for  my 
studies  will  help  me  to  win  a  professorship." 

"But  are  you  going  to  turn  teacher?  What 
are  you  seeking  in  books?" 

"Wisdom." 


PROMETHEUS  23 

"Wisdom  does  not  lead  to  success.  To 
attain  it,  intelligence  coupled  with  natural 
aptitude  suffices,  without  further  training, 
and  even  instinct  is  sufficient  on  condition  that 
upon  one  or  the  other  will-power  is  grafted. 
To  will  is  to  accomplish.  But  in  order  to 
will  one  needs  a  plain  object,  looked  at  from 
only  one  point  of  view.  And  wisdom  pre- 
sents to  us  objects  in  all  their  aspects,  prevents 
us  from  going  in  a  direct  line  towards  our 
aim,  and  forces  us  to  circle  about  one  point, 
like  the  butterfly  around  the  light  by  which 
it  is  dazzled  or  consumed.  Wisdom  does  not 
lead  to  success.  Or  are  you  seeking  wisdom 
for  itself?" 

"For  itself.  I  am  endeavoring  to  know 
things  in  all  their  phases,  and  more  than  in 
all  their  phases  in  all  their  recondite  mean- 
ings and  correspondences." 

"But  the  fact  is  that  books  do  not  serve 
the  purpose  either.  Wisdom  is  acquired  by 
the  direct  study  of  nature  and  of  men,  not 
by  the  study  of  the  dead  letter;  it  is  granted 
by  the  slow  and  unhurried  experience  of  a 
life  which  has  known  how  to  employ  itself 
well,  not  by  the  gracious  and  delightful  ex- 
perience of  books.  The  experience  of  one  has 


24  PROMETHEUS 

never  been  of  benefit  to  the  other.  And  when 
wisdom  at  last  has  been  attained,  in  extreme 
old  age,  when  strength  is  lacking  us  to  make 
use  of  it,  tell  me:  for  what  do  we  want  it?" 

"It  does  not  matter  to  me  that  plenary  wis- 
dom is  not  gained  except  when  one  is  grown 
old.  I  find  no  way  to  conjecture  how  great 
a  joy  it  will  be  to  know  completely,  because 
I  cannot  conceive  that  it  can  be  greater  than 
to  learn  little  by  little,  and  step  by  step." 

"In  short,  you  wish  to  be  a  man  of  thought." 

"Yes." 

"I  should  prefer  your  being  a  man  of 
action." 

"That  too." 

"One  does  not  fit  in  with  the  other. 
Thought  is  a  hindrance  to  action." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  convinced  that  it 
is  a  stimulus,  a  motive  force.  The  dove  can 
believe  that  it  would  fly  more  swiftly  without 
the  weight  of  the  air,  but  it  is  certain  that 
unless  it  rested  its  wings  upon  the  dense  air, 
it  would  fall  to  the  earth." 

"I  know  the  metaphor.  The  disadvantage, 
dear  John,  is  that  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"I  do  not  understand  myself  either." 


PROMETHEUS  25 

"Then  let  us  wait  until  you  understand 
yourself,  and  we  understand  each  other." 

"Let  us  wait." 

The  fact  was  that  John  felt  himself  pas- 
sionately drawn  towards  books  and  towards 
drink  by  a  power  of  attraction  superior  to  his 
will.  He  did  not  read  carelessly  and  at  ran- 
dom, with  silent  and  stupefying  voracity  like 
a  pedantic  and  unsystematic  reader.  He  read 
methodically  the  most  select  works,  in  the 
classics  as  well  as  in  cultured  modern  tongues. 
He  imbibed  with  ecstasy  the  most  noble,  the 
most  ancient,  the  most  rarefied  essences  of 
the  human  heart  and  intellect  throughout  the 
centuries,  and  he  assimilated  them  into  the 
blood  and  marrow  of  his  soul.  He  read  as  he 
drank:  with  a  relish,  and  in  such  wise  that 
his  pulses  quickened,  his  mind  grew  keener, 
and  he  put  on  as  it  were  a  new  life.  And 
so,  in  his  spirit  were  becoming  amalgamated 
countless  seething  inquietudes,  presumptions, 
eager  longings,  glimpses,  impulses  and  ter- 
rors, which  flowed  together  in  him,  proceed- 
ing from  remote  zones,  from  the  cardinal 
points  of  the  soul  of  humanity,  scattered  over 
divers  ages  and  over  divers  lands.  But  in 
him  had  engraved  itself  that  sentence  of 


28  PROMETHEUS 

his  uncle's:  "Only  action  leads  to  success." 
Success,  that  is,  the  perfect  realization  of 
one's  own  destiny.  John  had  confidence  in 
his  destiny.  He  said  to  himself  one  day: 
"I  want  to  find  my  norms  of  action."  And 
he  left  Florence  on  a  journey  of  apprentice- 
ship over  all  Italy.  He  visited  the  cities, 
mingled  with  many  classes  of  men,  high  and 
low,  sought  intercourse  with  women,  scru- 
tinized, meditated,  passed  whole  nights  with 
his  light  burning,  the  bottle  within  reach 
of  his  hand,  elbows  on  the  table,  and  fore- 
head in  his  hands;  but  he  could  not  succeed 
in  solving  the  great  problem:  that  of  putting 
himself  in  harmony  with  himself,  of  discover- 
ing the  ideal  which  befits  one.  "A  man  of 
action,  yes,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "but 
where  are  the  noble  and  unheard-of  acts  in 
which  to  engage  oneself?"  Italy  seemed  to 
him  a  country  too  much  subject  to  rule  and 
measure,  like  a  work  of  art  already  fashioned, 
a  piece  of  sculpture  minutely  modeled.  All 
was  petrified;  all  had  a  finished,  final  shape; 
over  everything  was  reflected  the  golden  dusk 
of  tradition.  And  it  was  a  deficient  tradition, 
broken  up  into  various  traditions,  unfused, 
without  connection,  and  without  fertility;  the 


PROMETHEUS  27 

tradition  of  Rome,  force  without  grace  or 
sagacity,  and  the  tradition  of  the  Renaissance, 
grace  and  subtlety  without  strength.  For 
John,  the  living  tradition,  the  true  tradition 
must  be  one  of  trinity  in  unity,  eternally 
renewed ;  vigor,  grace,  and  subtlety,  under- 
standing by  subtlety  the  active  intelligence. 
One  night  in  Naples,  face  to  face  with  the 
Tyrrhenian  sea,  John  inhaled  the  fragrance 
of  the  orange  trees.  He  thought:  "I  seem 
to  be  in  Spain— Why?  Why?"  And  he  did 
not  quickly  hit  upon  the  answer.  He  had 
never  been  in  Spain,  and  in  that  crisis,  he 
felt  homesick  for  Spain.  "Oh,  beloved  father- 
land," he  sighed.  And  why?  He  had  a  sud- 
den revelation.  "The  tradition  of  Italy  moves 
me  not  because  I  am  not  an  Italian.  I  am 
a  Spaniard.  Italy  is  a  statue.  Spain  is  as 
yet  youthful  flesh,  not  a  tradition,  but  blind 
inheritance.  It  is  the  country  of  possibili- 
ties. It  is  the  virgin  country,  almost  a  child, 
for  men  of  action,  and  men  of  thought. 
Why?  I  know  not,  but  so  it  is."  It  was 
a  revelation.  It  is  true  that  that  night  he 
had  drunk  more  than  usual.  But  that  night 
was  in  his  life  like  a  signpost  which  marks 
the  parting  of  the  ways.  He  wrote  to  his 


28  PROMETHEUS 

uncle  to  say  good-by,  and  took  the  first  boat 
for  Spain,  an  English  vessel  going  to  New 
York,  which  would  stop  at  Gibraltar.  The 
short  crossing  from  Italy  to  Spain  gave  him 
an  opportunity  to  know  at  close  range  the 
Anglo-Saxon.  He  mixed  with  Englishmen 
and  North  Americans.  In  them  he  found 
something  which  approached  the  archetype  of 
hero  towards  which  he  was  guiding  himself, 
in  which  are  merged  strength,  grace,  and 
subtlety,  so  proportioned  as  to  produce  a 
perfect  equilibrium.  Then  he  thought  that 
perhaps  the  naive  and  adventurous  heart  of 
the  legendary  Argonaut  pulsed  again  in  the 
English  explorer,  and  that  the  Argonaut's 
inordinate  love  for  wealth,  more  successful 
in  gaining  its  ends  than  the  Englishman's, 
was  reembodied  in  the  Yankee  financier.  But 
both  types,  even  though  heroic,  within  actual 
times,  John  judged  as  too  paltry  for  his 
ambition.  He  aspired  to  the  type  of  the 
demigod,  to  Prometheus;  and  if  he  himself 
could  not  be  Prometheus,  at  least  he  aspired 
to  apprehend,  to  understand,  to  divine  him, 
and  to  aid  in  his  conception. 

John   reached    Spain,    and   first   went   to 
Seville.     There  he  lengthened  out  his   stay 


PROMETHEUS  29 

to  two  months,  awaiting  the  Fair.  The  bull- 
fights impressed  him  profoundly.  He  thought 
for  a  few  days  that  bull-fighting  was  his 
vocation.  The  great  feast  fascinated  him 
with  two  powerful  charms:  first,  the  attrac- 
tion of  naked  tragedy,  a  struggle  with  the 
blind  and  hostile  forces  of  nature,  with 
death;  and  then  the  immediate  sanction  of 
success  before  the  intoxicated  and  delirious 
multitude.  So  much  to  heart  did  he  take  it 
that  he  hastened  to  attempt  the  first  rudi- 
ments of  the  art,  passes  with  the  cloak  and 
the  decoying  of  the  bull,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  cut  his  beard  and  hair  which  had  lent  to 
his  head  a  Capitoline  aspect.  Very  soon  he 
found  out  that  the  art  of  bull-fighting  did 
not  embrace  technical  difficulties,  nor  require 
great  courage  or  skill.  Its  essence  was 
grace,  a  gift  which  the  gods  bestow  at  their 
caprice,  and  not  strength,  a  quality  which 
man  can  acquire  or  develop.  Consequently, 
like  any  art  which  is  the  outcome  of  the  gift 
of  grace,  it  was  decadent.  He  renounced 
bull-fighting,  but  remained  in  Seville,  his 
senses  overcome  by  gentle  languor,  and  once 
more  he  let  his  beard  grow.  And  this  stay 
in  Seville  constitutes  one  of  the  adventures 


30  PROMETHEUS 

referred  to  in  the  invocation  of  this  story, 
which  John  designated  as:  "Sojourn  in  the 
land  of  the  lotus-eaters,  who  feed  upon  a 
flower  which  causes  loss  of  memory,  and 
which  grants  oblivion."  And  in  order  to 
flee  from  that  forgetfulness  which  threatened 
everything,  John  fell  into  the  arms  of  a  fas- 
cinating Sevillian,  Lolita  the  Fleshy,  so 
nicknamed  in  spite  of  her  slenderness,  be- 
cause she  had  been  born  by  the  Gate  of  the 
Flesh.  And  she  is  the  Circe  of  the  invoca- 
tion, from  whom  John  liberated  himself 
through  the  good  offices  of  Hermes,  who  is 
also  called  Mercury,  the  god  who  presides 
over  the  distribution  of  wealth  and  property; 
and  this  we  state  in  order  to  make  plain  that 
we  have  not  hinted  at  anything  malicious, 
but  simply  mean  that  as  Lolita's  fondness  for 
him  was  costing  John  an  eye,  and  the  sixty 
thousand  liras  had  dwindled  to  a  half,  John 
reminded  himself  to  remind  himself  no  longer 
of  his  beloved,  and  to  abandon  Seville.  He 
traveled  over  the  greater  portion  of  Spain 
in  search  of  the  living  triune  tradition,  with 
the  following  result:  that  in  the  South,  grace 
and  subtlety  lacked  strength;  in  the  East, 
strength  and  subtlety  lacked  grace;  and  in 


PEOMETHEUS  31 

the  North,  strength  and  grace  lacked  sub- 
tlety. And  finally  he  wound  up  in  an  an- 
cient city,  dead  from  time  immemorial,  the 
name  of  which  we  have  no  reason  for  di- 
vulging. And  this  adventure  is  the  one  John 
described  as  "Descent  into  the  dwellings  of 
remembrance,  peopled  by  the  empty  phantoms 
of  those  who  have  ceased  to  exist";  because 
the  city,  although  it  abounded  in  self- 
propelling  figures  that  resembled  men,  held 
only  phantoms.  And  there  he  consulted 
Tiresias,  who  was  a  seer  and  had  the  visage  of 
an  owl.  And  the  seer  with  the  owl's  face 
said  to  John:  "Wretch,  you  have  come  to 
regions  where  one  cannot  arrive  without  hav- 
ing forfeited  one's  humanity.  No  longer  are 
you  a  man,  nor  can  you  recover  man's  es- 
tate. Henceforth  you  shall  be  but  the  recol- 
lection of  a  man."  And  John  felt  in  his 
innermost  being  pallid  and  penetrating  terror. 
And  from  that  city  of  silence  John  departed 
for  Madrid.  Unholy  Madrid  captured  him 
with  its  sinister  spell.  Very  quickly  he  ac- 
quired innumerable  friends,  and  became  an 
out  and  out  son  of  Madrid.  It  was  then 
that  he  became  naturalized  as  a  Spaniard, 
adopting  the  name  of  Mark  de  Setinano, 


32  PROMETHEUS 

because  he  still  maintained  an  heroic  spirit, 
and  John  Perez  seemed  to  him  a  passionate 
adjuration  to  a  plebeian  Nemesis.  His  stay 
in  Madrid  Mark  entitled:  "Episode  in  which 
my  companions  made  slaughter  of  the  flocks 
of  Helios,  inciting  the  gods  to  vengeance"; 
and  by  this  heading  he  gave  to  understand  in 
allegorical  fashion  that  in  Madrid  night  is 
turned  into  day,  and  the  penalty  is  to  accom- 
plish nothing  worth  while.  Money  was  now 
becoming  scarce;  or,  what  amounts  to  the 
same  thing,  John  was  moving  between  Scylla 
and  Charybdis,  and  from  Herod  to  Pilate. 
As  Odysseus  clung  to  the  fig  tree,  so  Mark 
clung  to  a  professorship  of  Greek  in  the 
University  of  Pilares,  which  it  was  announced 
was  open  to  competitive  examination.  He 
revalidated  his  diploma  in  Spain,  and  ob- 
tained the  chair  without  any  difficulty.  Once 
more  he  acquired  a  love  for  books,  and  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  ordering  of  his  thoughts, 
and  moralizing  on  his  experiences.  From  his 
love  for  ambrosial  libations  he  had  not  fallen 
away  one  whit.  When  he  won  his  professor- 
ship and  went  to  establish  himself  in  Pilares, 
he  was  thirty-three,  and  in  the  prime  of  his 
manhood.  Discriminating  and  clear-sighted 


PROMETHEUS  33 

in  his  judgments,  he  immediately  compre- 
hended Pilares  and  its  inhabitants,  and  the  lot 
that  the  future  held  for  him  there.  Nothing 
more  appropriate  than  to  limit  ourselves  to 
his  own  words.  After  holding  his  professor- 
ship a  few  months,  he  wrote  as  follows  to  his 
uncle. 

"Dear  Uncle:  I  am  a  school  teacher  in  a 
Spanish  province.  I  came  to  Spain  think- 
ing it  the  country  of  possibilities.  Now  I 
look  upon  it  as  the  country  of  impossibilities. 
This,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  for  I  have 
forsworn  success,  and  acknowledged  myself 
a  defeated  man.  I  am  a  failure  because  I 
have  had  no  father,  or  have  only  half  had 
one,  for  the  function  of  a  father  is  not  merely 
to  beget.  My  father  transmitted  to  me  one 
element  of  success:  vigor.  Grace  I  owe  to 
my  mother.  The  rest  I  have  acquired  for 
myself.  I  believe  I  am  a  perfect  man,  as 
will  be  proved  to  you  by  the  naturalness 
with  which  I  speak  of  my  perfection.  This 
explains,  moreover,  why  I  am  a  defeated 
man;  because  in  order  to  make  of  myself  a 
man,  I  have  needed  time,  and  upon  reaching 
the  period  of  perfect  maturity,  I  see  that  it 


34  PROMETHEUS 

coincides  with  the  period  of  decline  of  the 
elements  that  make  for  success.  The  result 
of  my  journeyings  and  studies  may  be  synthe- 
sized into  a  few  brief  postulates:  Happiness 
is  reserved  for  the  man  of  action;  but  the 
man  of  action  does  not  invent  activity,  he 
realizes  it.  The  man  of  thought  conceives 
action,  therefore  the  man  of  thought  should 
precede  the  man  of  action.  The  man  of 
thought  begins  by  thinking  himself  happy 
in  the  fruition  of  knowing  purely  for  the 
sake  of  knowing;  until  the  sorrow  comes  of 
realizing  that  felicity  resides  solely  in  action; 
and  finally  from  this  grief  ascends  the 
sublime  joy  of  recognizing  that  for  him  also 
is  reserved  the  most  noble  mode  of  action, 
that  of  begetting  a  man  of  action,  and  this 
happiness  is  increased  when  the  man  of 
thought  is  at  the  same  time  a  defeated  man 
of  action,  when  he  knows  that  he  himself 
might  have  been  a  man  of  action.  In  other 
words:  if  indeed  I  have  relinquished  per- 
sonal success,  it  is  because  I  aspire  to  the 
vicarious  success  of  paternity.  What  I  wish 
I  might  have  been,  that  my  son  Prometheus 
will  be,  a  demigod,  a  redeemer — for  now 
more  than  ever  humanity  has  need  of  him — 


PROMETHEUS  35 

a  living  bond,  and  a  link  between  earth  and 
heaven.  For  behold  how  I  imagine  humanity. 
What  to  us,  looking  upwards  from  the  earth, 
is  heaven,  is  from  the  other  side,  to  the 
gods  who  gaze  down  upon  it  and  walk  upon 
it,  earth.  And  humanity  is  as  it  were  a  gar- 
land which  hangs  from  this  ceiling,  forming 
large  and  diversified  festoons  from  one  point 
to  another  of  the  vault  from  which  it  is 
suspended.  Very  well  then,  each  point  of 
contact  through  which  at  distant  intervals  it 
meets  heaven,  is  such  a  man  as  I  call  Pro- 
metheus. When  from  one  point  to  another 
the  historic  distance  is  too  greatly  prolonged, 
the  festoon  drops  so  low  that  humanity  wal- 
lows in  the  slime.  This  being  so,  I  dream  of 
my  Prometheus.  My  spirit  and  my  flesh  are 
imbued  with  this  meaning  of  the  future,  and 
make  prophecy  of  it  to  me.  I  suppose  you 
will  say  that  all  this  is  because  I  am  in  love, 
and  want  to  marry.  No,  sir.  Not  yet  have 
I  met  the  woman  whom  I  am  destined  to 
marry.  I  am  going  to  seek  her  with  all  de- 
liberation and  serenity.  She  shall  be  strong, 
as  I  am  strong;  she  shall  be  beautiful,  as  I 
am  beautiful;  she  shall  be  intelligent,  as  I 
am  intelligent.  I  shall  marry  with  due  con- 


36  PROMETHEUS 

sciousness  of  my  responsibility,  with  the  clear 
perception  that  I  am  the  providential  and 
beloved  instrument  of  the  genius  of  the  race." 

To  this  his  uncle  replied: 

"Dear  Nephew:  I  am  very  feeble.  Soon 
I  shall  die.  In  my  will  I  leave  you  an  in- 
heritance of  one  hundred  thousand  liras. 
Your  letter  has  greatly  pleased  me.  I  always 
considered  you  crazy,  and  this  it  is  that  grati- 
fies me.  Your  father  was  more  than  circum- 
spect, and  was  very  uncongenial  to  me.  I  do 
not  believe,  like  you,  that  humanity  is  an 
ornament  attached  to  heaven  by  the  semi- 
divine  nature  of  some  exceptional  men. 
These  men  touch  the  heavens  with  their  fore- 
heads because  other  men  boost  them.  It  is 
no  merit  in  the  top  of  the  tree  that  it  is  the 
top,  that  merit  belongs  to  the  trunk  and  the 
roots.  It  is  not  to  the  credit  of  the  apex  of 
the  pyramid  that  it  is  the  apex,  that  credit  is 
due  to  the  base.  Let  humanity  sink  as  far 
as  possible  in  the  mire  until  it  gains  a  foot- 
hold. Afterwards,  in  his  good  time,  Prome- 
theus will  arrive.  And  from  this  point  on 
you  are  right:  Prometheus  is  born  of  men 
like  you,  men  impelled  by  yearning  desire 


PROMETHEUS  37 

to  soar,  and  vanquished  by  that  very  aspira- 
tion. These  defeated  men,  dear  John,  I  think 
are  the  leaven  of  humanity." 

On  receiving  this  letter,  Mark  commented: 
"My  uncle  is  in  his  second  childhood;  never- 
theless he  is  not  far  off  the  track." 

Mark  fulfilled  systematically  the  duties  of 
his  professorship,  but  he  lived  above  all  de- 
livered over  to  the  obsession  of  being  father 
to  a  hero.  Consequently  he  was  to  be  assailed 
by  reiterated  erotic  attacks  which  grew  more 
frequent  with  spring.  And  this  was  the  rea- 
son why  he  began  to  make  advances  to 
Frederica  Gomez,  a  sentimental,  violent, 
portly  woman,  and  a  widow  besides.  Fred- 
erica  conceived  a  passion  for  Mark,  and 
Mark,  for  pastime,  let  himself  be  led  whither 
she  would  lead  him,  which  was  to  a  lovely 
country  house,  at  the  beginning  of  summer, 
but  unfortunately,  with  the  beginning  of 
summer,  boredom  set  in  for  Mark. 


Ill  _  MAT  I^IPAA    Naked  my  mother  bore  me, 
1^^\UJ1WW\  ,,   an  Immortal. 


I  rule  my  destiny; 

Adversity  flees  before  mt. 

I  am  Man.     Man  am  I, 

King  of  the  floating  world; 

I  am  the  salt  of  the  earth; 

With  me  History  ends, 

With  me  History  begins. 

Utterly  naked  I  am 

As  a  primeval  dawn. 

So  the  sea  cast  me  up 

Where  its  curved  margin  flowers. 

I  come  from  mystery   that  sings: 

I  come  from  depths  of  the  past. 

Just  at  the  future's  door 

I  find  you,  Nausicad, 

White-armed,  slim,  strong, 

Nausicad,   beautiful! 

Fold  me  in  your  white  arms; 

Claim  me  in  nuptial  joy. 

We  are  the  pillars  of  Hercules 

On  which  the  globe  is  poised; 

About  us  like  a  garland 

Is  wreathed  Eternity. 


Ill 


AUSICAA  was  called  Perpetua 
Meana.  When  Mark  found 
out  her  baptismal  and  surname, 
he  praised  the  first,  considering 
it  lovely  and  significant,  but  the 
second  disgusted  him  for  its  lack  of  euphony, 
and  for  other  reasons.  Perpetua  was  a  hand- 
some girl,  her  figure  well-filled  out,  but  sober 
in  its  curves  according  to  the  Greek  canon,  very 
rosy  and  very  fair,  her  skin  covered  with 
a  silvery  bloom,  her  eyes  black.  As  one 
born  in  Andalusia,  and  as  the  daughter  of 
an  Andalusian,  she  was  naturally  attractive, 
without  running  into  extremes  of  vivacious- 
ness,  and  she  was  simple  and  frank  without 
being  bold.  She  was  the  essence  of  femininity 
in  her  loveliness,  and  in  her  freshness  like 
to  that  of  a  rose;  somewhat  virile  in  her 
character  and  expression.  The  mother  had 
died,  and  as  the  elder  sister  she  ruled  the 
house.  She  was  full  twenty-five  years  old 
when  Mark  met  her,  as  has  been  related. 


40  PROMETHEUS 

Her  two  sisters  were  pretty  too,  but  they  had 
turned  out  puny.    She  had  three  brothers  who 
were  so  many  barbarians.     One  of  them  had 
taken  a  notion  to  play  the  accordion;    an- 
other, to  paint;   and  the  third,  to  hunt.    The 
father    had    been    named    delegate    of    the 
Treasury  in  Pilares  that  very  spring  when 
Mark  was  seized  with  his  fancy  for  Frederica. 
Don  Tesifonte  Meana    (a  name  that  Mark 
esteemed  both  beautiful  and  melodious)   was 
a  native  of  Extremadura,  and  doubtless  was 
descended  from  a  race  of  conquerors,  because 
the  hours  he  was  not  in  his  office  he  devoted 
exclusively  to  the  conquest  of  maid  servants. 
Within  a  month  of  his  abiding  in  Pilares,  he 
was  the  idol  of  the  guild  of  serving  maids 
because  of  his  generosity,  the  nightmare  of 
the    barracks,    and    famous    throughout    the 
town.    Although  elderly,  he  was  still  tall  and 
erect,  firm  in  his  step,  and  not  ill-looking. 
Don  Tesifonte  and  his  offspring  as  well,  were 
persons    with    something    angelic    in    their 
makeup.     They  rejoiced  in  the  gift  of  at- 
tracting    sympathy;      they     captivated     the 
affections.     Soon  after  their  arrival  in  Pi- 
lares,   the    Meana    family    established    very 
close,    almost   fraternal    friendship    with    an 


PROMETHEUS  41 

indigenous    family,    that    of    the    widowed 
Marchioness  of  San  Albano.    The  Marchion- 
ess   showered    all   manner   of   attentions    on 
Don    Tesifonte,    and    the    latter    conducted 
himself  with   signal  good  breeding  towards 
the    Marchioness.      The    two    sons    of    the 
Marchioness   of   San   Albano,   Donatfn   and 
Fidelm,  did  not  conceal  their  inclination  for 
the  two  younger  daughters  of  Don  Tesifonte, 
Cachito  and  Pujito,  appellatives  derived,  con- 
trary   to    every    law    of    linguistics,    from 
Concepcion  and  Paula.     Perpetua  was  left 
over.    Let  it  be  said  in  passing  that  Perpetua 
never  had  enjoyed  great  favor  with  the  youth 
of  the  opposite  sex,  doubtless  because  of  a 
certain    majesty    and    air    of    command    for 
which    they    reproached    her    as    very    un- 
womanly,   indeed    as    somewhat    masculine. 
Finally,    the    two    sons    of    Don    Tesifonte, 
Ferdinand  and  Alfonso,  divided  their  affec- 
tions e/jually  between  the  accordion  and  paint- 
ing on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other,  the 
two    daughters    of    the    Marchioness,    Mary 
Cleophas   and   Anuncia.      Edward,   the   last 
off -shoot  of  Don   Tesifonte,   was  left  over. 
He  it  was  who  took  delight  in  the  exercise 
of  the  chase,  in  tramping  cross-country  up 


42  PEOMETHEUS 

hill  and  down  dale,  and  in  pursuing  and 
killing  wild  animals.  In  short:  the  two  fam- 
ilies were  so  united  by  powerful  affinities  that 
they  threatened  to  blend  into  only  one. 
When  summer  came,  the  Marchioness  of  San 
Albano  invited  the  Meanas  to  a  sumptuous 
estate,  with  a  medieval  castle  and  rich  in- 
heritance, which  she  possessed  by  the  seaside, 
in  San  Albano,  for  there  it  was  that  the  title 
was  situate,  by  grace  of  his  Holiness,  Leo 
XIII.  The  Meanas  accepted  with  alacrity. 
Don  Tesifonte  remained  in  Pilares  because 
the  Delegation  of  the  Treasury  held  him  to 
service  as  attached  to  the  soil.  On  the  beach 
of  San  Albano  it  was  that  Mark,  fleeing  from 
Frederica,  after  suffering  shipwreck,  found 
himself  like  Odysseus:  naked,  hungry  and 
exhausted. 


IV-MARK  AND 

nirr>oi7T-T  T  A 
I"ilr\i  E*  1  UA 


, 

Thnlhn9  the  vigorous  body! 

Supreme  glory  of  earth! 

Joy  of  the  senses,  mouth 

Of  woman  to  quench  man's  thirst, 

Bosom  erect  and  soft 

Made  for  his  eyes  and  touch, 

Voice  cool  like  a  stream 

Refreshing  his  arid  soul! 

Song  of  the  nightingale 

In  the  willows  by  the  brook, 

Roses,  roses  and  jasmine 

Woven  in  flowing  hair! 

Then  .  .  .  sea,  and  ruddy  shore, 

Meadows,  woods,  mountains, 

Stars  above   them  all  .    .   . 

These  exist  for  the  sake 

Of  man  and  woman  made  one. 

Nature  were  deaf  and  blind 

Bereft  of  human  desire; 

Mute,  chaotic,  dead, 

Apart  from  two  youthful  lovers. 

Oh  ecstasy  of  the  senses! 

Oh  body,  temple  of  Beauty! 


IV 


HE  Marchioness  was  given  over 
to  the  cosmetic  arts.  She  was 
in  the  hands  of  a  maid  who  was 
combing  her  hair  with  great 
skill  and  deliberation  in  such 
wise  as  to  make  her  skimpy  locks  simulate  the 
hirsute  luxuriance  of  a  merino  sheep.  In  spite 
of  her  capillary  penury,  the  Marchioness  bore 
with  distinction,  docorum  and  dissimulation  the 
limping  superstructure  of  her  beauty.  She 
had  been  very  beautiful.  Now  if  she  was 
not,  she  seemed  to  be.  Her  skin  was  still 
smooth  and  rosy;  her  teeth  were  perfect,  and 
her  limbs  agile  to  a  certain  point.  She  stood 
out  among  the  other  matrons  for  her  youth- 
fulness  of  face,  her  erectness  of  figure,  and 
her  imposing  gestures.  She  was  in  her 
dressing-room,  next  to  the  balcony  and  facing 
the  garden,  with  her  eyes  half  closed,  as  if  the 
tickling  of  the  nape  of  her  neck  provoked  in 
her  delightful  day  dreams.  She  heard  steps. 
"Who  is  coining  in  without  my  permis- 

44 


PROMETHEUS  45 

sion?"  she  asked  astonished,  for  she  did  not 
wish  any  one  to  penetrate  into  the  mysteries 
of  her  toilette. 

"It  is  I,  Marchioness,"  replied  Perpetua, 
advancing  with  decision. 

"But  were  you  not  on  the  beach  with  the 
other  girls?" 

"You  shall  see.  Something  serious  has 
happened." 

The  Marchioness  would  have  liked  to  strike 
a  statuesque  attitude  of  patrician  composure, 
indicating  that  she  was  ready  to  receive  the 
most  tragic  of  news,  but  the  hairdresser  held 
her  condemned  to  a  motionless  and  ridiculous 
attitude. 

"Has  any  one  been  drowned?" 

"Drowned,  no.  But  if  not  drowned,  it 
has  been  by  a  miracle." 

"Tell  me  the  truth;  don't  waste  time  in 
circumlocutions.  Who  has  been  drowned?" 

"Nobody.  Last  night,  apparently,  there 
was  a  wreck  near  the  shore." 

"I  heard  the  storm.  I  couldn't  sleep  the 
whole  night." 

"I  always  sleep  like  a  log.  Now  for  it. 
This  morning  we  found  on  the  beach  a  cast- 
away. He  is  a  man,  a  youth,  about  thirty. 


46  PROMETHEUS 

He  was  naked,  hungry,  and  exhausted.  We 
brought  him  along,  and  he  is  waiting  in  the 
orchard." 

"But,  my  child,  did  he  come  with  you  so, 
in  that  state — of  innocence?" 

"No,  ma'am.  None  of  us  saw  him  because 
he  covered  himself  with  branches.  That  is 
to  say,  I  saw  his  arms  and  the  upper  part  of 
his  chest.  Then  we  gave  him  some  sheets. 
And  so  he  came.  He  looks  like  a  Moor.  He 
is  very  tall,  very  strong,  and  very  handsome." 

"Handsome  he  has  to  be  in  order  to  look 
well  to  you  in  such  attire.  And  what  do  you 
want  me  to  do?" 

"Help  him.    Offer  him  something." 

"Very  well  thought  out.  See  here,  have 
them  make  him  a  cup  of  mallows  tea,  piping 
hot,  for  surely  he  must  have  caught  cold." 

"It  isn't  that.  I  mean  that  he  remain  here, 
in  the  house.  That  he  stay  for  dinner " 

"At  the  table  with  us?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Have  you  gone  crazy,  my  child?  A  man 
enveloped  in  a  sheet,  seated  at  table  with  us?" 

"But  by  dinner  time  he  will  be  dressed,  of 
course.  My  plan  is  as  follows:  that  he  put 
on  a  suit  of  Ferdinand's.  Then  let  him  dine 


PROMETHEUS  47 

here,  rest,  sleep  in  the  house  to-night.  And 
to-morrow  will  be  time  enough  to  decide.  He 
will  tell  us  his  story,  which  must  be  very 
interesting." 

"God  knows  what  such  a  man  can  be." 

"He  is  a  gentleman,  a  great  gentleman;  it 
is  only  necessary  to  see  him." 

"Thanks  to  you,  I  am  now  eager  to  make 
the  castaway's  acquaintance.  All  right, 
dearie;  act  and  manage  as  if  this  house  were 
yours." 

"Everything  is  already  arranged.  Neither 
your  sons  nor  my  brothers  are  up  yet,  except 
Edward,  who  went  out  hunting  early.  I 
have  already  begged  clothes  of  the  four  for 
Mark  to  try  on.  I  had  forgotten,  the  cast- 
away told  us  his  name  was  Mark  Setinano." 

"The  name  sounds  familiar,  but  I  can't 
place  it.  Now  leave  me  to  finish  fixing  myself 
and  then  I  will  go  down  and  offer  hospitality 
to  this  stranger  who  has  fallen  from  heaven, 
or  issued  from  the  sea." 

They  had  accommodated  Mark  in  a  bed- 
room of  the  house,  where  a  servant  brought 
him,  shortly  afterwards,  a  great  armful  of 
clothes.  None  of  them  fitted  him. 

"Tell  the  young  lady  that  it  is  impossible, 


48  PROMETHEUS 

physically  and  metaphysically,  for  me  to 
enclose  myself  in  these  insignificant  garments, 
under  penalty  of  bursting  them  and  continu- 
ing as  Edenic  as  before.  What's  the  matter, 
friend?  By  the  idiotic  look  upon  your  coun- 
tenance and  your  gaping  mouth,  I  gather 
that  you  do  not  understand  elegant  language. 
See  here,  the  best  thing  is  for  you  to  tell  your 
young  lady  to  locate  herself  on  the  other  side 
of  that  door  for  me  to  explain  to  her  what 
is  happening." 

Perpetua  on  the  outside  of  the  room,  and 
Mark  within,  held  the  following  conversation: 

"Madam,  these  clothes  are  of  no  use  to 


me." 


"I  suspected  it  already,  but  you  say  what- 
ever you  have  in  mind." 

"Various  solutions.  First:  that  I  may  be 
provided  with  a  carpenter's  chisel  to  reduce 
my  dimensions  and  accommodate  them  to  the 
capacity  of  the  garments.  Approved?" 

"Rejected." 

"Second:  to  call  in  a  shirt-maker,  shoe- 
maker, and  tailor  to  take  my  measure  for 
shirts,  shoes,  and  suit.  Approved?" 

"In  San  Albano  there  are  no  shirt  or  shoe- 
makers, nor  any  tailors." 


PBOMETHEUS  49 

"Third:  to  dress  myself  as  a  woman,  al- 
though I  declare  I  abhor  all  trickery,  particu- 
larly of  this  kind.  Approved?" 

"Promptly  rejected." 

"Fourth:  that  a  messenger  be  sent  to 
Pilares  on  horseback,  and  at  breakneck  speed, 
with  a  letter  of  mine  to  bring  me  clothes  and 
money,  for  I  find  myself  with  empty  pockets. 
Approved?" 

"Approved.  But  while  he  is  going  and 
coming,  which  is  a  whole  day,  what  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

"Send  me  a  deck  of  cards  and  I'll  play 
solitaire." 

"Nonsense!    You  must  come  out." 

"I'll  come  out  in  the  sheet." 

"The  Marchioness  won't  have  it." 

"I'll  fix  it  up  as  a  tunic,  adopting  Hellenic 
lines." 

"Hardly!" 

"Well  then,  there's  no  help  for  it.  Scour 
the  surrounding  country  for  a  man  of  my 
size." 

"Oh!  I  have  it!"  exclaimed  Perpetua,  clap- 
ping her  hands.  "Pepon  the  gardener's  son. 
He's  a  monster." 


50  PROMETHEUS 

"Well,  let's  try  if  his  monstrosity  coincides 
with  mine." 

"I  did  not  want  to  hurt  your  feelings." 

"I  know  it.     They  are  not  hurt." 

"The  worst  is  that  his  clothes  are  very 
coarse." 

"No  matter." 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

"One  moment,  before  you  go " 

"Out  with  it." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  anything  of  Pro- 
metheus ?" 

"Of  Prometheus?" 

"Have  you  not  dreamed  something  out  of 
the  ordinary?" 

"Yes,  sir;  as  luck  would  have  it,  last  night 
I  dreamed  very  queer  things;  but  I  do  not 
remember  anything  about  Prometheus." 

"All  right.     Thank  you." 

"I'll  hurry." 

Mark  dressed  up  in  Pepon's  clothes :  cotton 
trousers,  slashed  in  the  seat,  and  with  decora- 
tions of  green  material,  a  flannel  shirt,  alpar- 
gatas,  and  some  socks  of  Ferdinand's.  In 
such  attire  he  presented  himself  before  the 
Marchioness,  to  make  salaams  to  her,  and 
offer  her  voluble  demonstrations  of  gratitude 


PROMETHEUS  51 

for  hospitality  so  generous.  The  Marchioness 
observed  immediately  the  unusual  appearance 
of  Mark,  as  well  as  the  distinction  and  ele- 
gance of  his  manners.  The  matron,  with 
frank  cordiality,  offered  him  her  house  for 
as  long  as  he  liked;  and  the  castaway  replied 
that  he  accepted  only  until  they  fetched  him 
clothes  and  money  from  Pilares.  Then  the 
Marchioness,  accompanied  by  Perpetua  and 
the  other  girls,  showed  Mark  the  various 
rooms  of  the  house,  the  outbuildings  and  the 
gardens,  until  it  was  time  for  dinner.  By 
that  time,  the  anything  but  diligent  young 
men,  Donatin  and  Fidelin,  Ferdinand,  and 
Alfonso,  were  up  and  had  been  presented 
to  the  mysterious  guest,  the  San  Albanos 
receiving  him  with  undisguised  frigidity.  All 
sat  down  to  table. 

"You  say,  Sir,  that  your  Christian  name 
and  surname "  insinuated  the  Marchion- 
ess, looking  with  her  mother-of-pearl  lorg- 
nette into  the  soup  tureen  which  a  servant 
placed  beside  her,  as  if  she  were  looking  for 
the  name  in  the  soup,  which  had  vermicelli 
letters. 

"Mark  de  Setinano." 


52  PROMETHEUS 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know.  I  say  that  the  name  is 
not  a  Spanish  one." 

"No,  Madam.  Although  naturalized  a 
Spaniard,  I  was  born  in  Italy.  Setinano  is 
a  Florentine  name,  a  family  of  dukes." 

"In  Italy,  everyone  is  a  prince  and  an  ad- 
venturer. It  is  a  great  country  for  rogues," 
interpolated  Donatin,  who  was  much  puffed 
up  on  account  of  the  splendor  of  his  title, 
and  forgot  it  came  from  Rome. 

"Young  man,  you  have  uttered  a  piece  of 
impertinence,"  replied  Mark  with  Olympian 
and  annihilating  calmness,  not  deigning  to 
look  at  Donatin,  who,  somewhat  taken  aback, 
corrected  himself. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  refer  to  you.  You  will 
understand  that  I  am  accustomed  to  move  in 
the  society  of  dukes." 

"And  I  in  that  of  lackeys  and  upstarts," 
replied  Mark,  contemplating  Donatin  with 
such  absolute  disdain  that  the  handful  of  let- 
ters the  latter  had  in  his  mouth  was  converted 
into  a  choking  mass  of  cacophonies. 

Perpetua  felt  her  heart  swell  in  her  bosom 
with  joy.  The  Marchioness  said  within  her- 
self, "He  is  a  prince  in  disguise."  She 
admonished  her  first-born: 


PROMETHEUS  53 

"Donatin,  you  are  a  troublesome  and  in- 
experienced youth.  You  should  avail  your- 
self of  the  lesson  this  gentleman  has  given 
you,  and  in  future  be  more  heedful  of  the 
obligations  which  hospitality  imposes  upon 
well-bred  people.  And  you,  Mr.  Setinano, 
will  know  how  to  overlook  the  folly  of  his 
few  years.  Let  us  go  on  talking  about 
yourself,  of  your  shipwreck.  The  yacht,  was 
it  yours?" 

"What  yacht,  Marchioness?" 
"The  yacht  on  which  you  were  sailing." 
"Madam,  I  was  not  sailing  on  a  yacht,  but 
on  a  raft." 

And  he  commenced  to  tell  the  story  of  his 
wreck,  suppressing  its  causes,  in  order  not  to 
scandalize  the  ladies.  He  spoke  with  peculiar 
eloquence  and  color,  so  that  he  held  all  spell- 
bound. Then  they  questioned  him  about 
Italy,  and  again  he  spoke  beautifully  and 
with  feeling.  At  the  end  of  dinner  appeared 
the  younger  one  of  the  Meanas,  Edward, 
back  from  hunting.  He  was  beginning  his 
college  course  in  Philosophy  and  Letters, 
and  as  soon  as  he  saw  Setinano,  he  advanced 
to  greet  him. 

"Why,  do  you  know  Mr.   Setinano?"  the 


54  PROMETHEUS 

Marchioness  and  Perpetua  questioned  at  the 
same  time. 

"He  is  professor  of  Greek  in  the 
University." 

The  Marchioness  suffered  disillusionment. 

"Misfortune  obliged  me  to  take  up  teach- 
ing," Mark  explained. 

The  Marchioness  brooded.  She  muttered, 
as  if  meditating  aloud: 

"Greek.    But  does  Greek  exist?" 

"It  exists  and  it  does  not  exist,"  replied 
Setinano.  "Classic  Greek  is  a  dead 
language." 

"A  dead  language!"  repeated  the  Mar- 
chioness. "Well,  I  imagined  it  had  no 
existence.  As  we  say,  when  a  thing  is  unin- 
telligible, it  is  in  Greek.  But  so  it  is:  what 
more  utter  non-existence  than  to  be  dead! 
And  how  can  one  study  or  learn  a  dead 
language?  I  don't  take  that  in." 

"Because,  if  indeed  it  is  not  actually 
spoken,  there  are  preserved  written  works 
and  memorials  of  a  time  when  it  was  spoken." 

"Ah,  now  I  see!  But  what  most  surprises 
me  is  how  a  duke  can  set  himself  to  study 
these  queer  things." 

"Madam,  there  has  existed  in  Italy  since 


PROMETHEUS  55 

the  Renaissance  the  tradition  that  noblemen 
should  be  doctors  in  the  humanities." 

"Yes,  yes  J  you  are  right.  I  had  not  under- 
stood. It  is  perfectly  clear." 

The  Marchioness,  even  though  she  had  not 
understood,  approved  emphatically,  not  wish- 
ing to  display  anew  her  simplicity  and 
ignorance. 

After  dinner,  all  withdrew  to  their  rooms, 
and  Mark  remained  alone  in  the  one  assigned 
him.  In  the  late  afternoon,  the  families  went 
out  for  a  walk  in  the  country.  They  went 
in  couples,  a  Mr.  San  Albano  with  a  Miss 
Meana,  and  a  Mr.  Meana  with  a  Miss  San 
Albano;  in  the  rear,  the  Marchioness  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  Mark,  whom  she  accepted  as 
magnificent  paladin  in  spite  of  the  coarse 
material  of  his  attire,  and  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Marchioness,  Perpetua,  who  smiled 
constantly  to  herself,  but  said  not  a  word. 

That  night,  before  retiring,  the  Marchion- 
ess said  to  Perpetua: 

"You  were  right,  my  child;  the  castaway 
is  the  handsomest  man  I  have  ever  seen.  Be- 
sides, how  learned  he  is!  Have  you  ever 
known  any  one  who  knows  so  much?" 

Perpetua   did  not  reply.     She  went  out, 


56  PROMETHEUS 

saying  good-night;  she  undressed  quickly, 
buried  herself  between  her  sheets,  put  out  the 
light,  and  questioned  eagerly  the  nebulous 
divinity  of  dreams,  on  whose  lap  the  future 
is  held. 

On  the  following  day,  a  little  before  din- 
ner, arrived  Don  Tesifonte,  and  the  emissary 
with  some  clothes  of  Mark's  and  some  papers. 

"A  hearty  welcome,  Don  Tesifonte,"  said 
the  Marchioness. 

And  then,  scrutinizing  him  with  her 
lorgnette : 

"I  find  you  very  much  deteriorated,  and 
grown  very  old." 

"Confounded,  meddlesome  old  woman," 
thought  Don  Tesifonte.  "Probably  it  is 
that  stuck-up,  mischievous  imp,  Manuela, 
who  is  to  blame  for  my  deterioration." 
Manuela  was  a  cook  who  was  keeping  Don 
Tesifonte's  head  in  a  whirl. 

He  added  aloud: 

"It  is  due  to  overwork,  and  the  heat,  my 
dear  and  respected  friend." 

"Why,  I  find  father  as  usual " 

Mark,  in  the  meantime,  had  opened  the 
papers,  and  was  glancing  through  them. 


PROMETHEUS  57 

"Heavens!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  uncle,  the 
Duke  of  Setinano,  is  dead." 

"Do  you  inherit  the  title?"  inquired  the 
Marchioness,  tremulous  with  solicitude. 

"No,  Madam,  he  had  children." 

"God's  will  be  done;  neither  title  nor 
money." 

"Money,  yes,  a  mere  trifle;  about  twenty 
thousand  dollars." 

"Well  then,  congratulations,"  said  the 
Marchioness  with  too  much  readiness. 

"Marchioness "  reproached  Perpetua. 

"The  Marchioness  has  spoken  correctly," 
interrupted  Mark.  "My  uncle  died  a  natural 
death,  in  extreme  old  age.  Before  a  life 
so  full  and  harmonious,  one  so  lengthy  and 
ended  in  its  appointed  time,  like  a  perfect 
circle  which  is  completed,  there  is  no  reason 
for  a  lachrymose  attitude.  His  was  a  great 
intelligence  and  a  great  heart.  All  that  he 
lacked  was  Prometheus.  His  son  Vittorio 
will  certainly  not  be  Prometheus." 

Mark  looked  into  the  eyes  of  Perpetua, 
and  Perpetua,  who  had  not  dreamed  the 
night  before,  thought  at  that  moment  she  was 
dreaming,  and  the  vistas  of  her  dream  were 
infinite. 


58  PROMETHEUS 

During  the  afternoon's  walk,  Don  Tesifonte 
gave  his  arm  to  the  Marchioness.  Mark 
walked  beside  Perpetua. 

"In  short,"  said  Mark,  "now  I  am  dressed 
like  a  human  being.  Don't  you  think  I  am 
another  man?" 

"Yes,  indeed  you  are;  but  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  my  opinion.  In  peasant's  clothes  you 
look  better  than  in  those  of  a  gentleman.  In 
the  sheet,  you  looked  better  than  in  peasant's 
clothes.  And  when  you  appeared  to  me  on 
your  knees  in  the  midst  of  the  cinnamon  bush, 
I  liked  you  even  better  than  in  the  sheet." 

"You  have  spoken  with  peculiar  circum- 
spection, and  with  words  weighty  with  mean- 
ing. In  phrases  so  brief,  you  have  said 
everything.  Would  you  like  our  conversation 
to  be  an  interpretation  and  explanation  of 
what  you  have  said?" 

"Very  well." 

"A  needless  question.  As  far  as  my  short 
experience  goes,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  no 
Spanish  girl  would  have  dared  to  speak  as 
you  have  spoken.  Your  words  have  been 
crystal." 

"If  my  sisters,  or  the  San  Albano  girls, 
had  heard  me,  they  would  have  been  scan- 


PROMETHEUS  59 

dalized  as  if  it  were  a  question  of  cynical 
and  immodest  expressions." 

The  face  of  Perpetua  revealed  a  marmoreal 
gravity  and  a  pallid  chastity. 

"I  am  satisfied,"  said  Mark,  his  expres- 
sion serious  and  tender.  "Let  us  begin  the 
commentary  to  your  first  words.  It  might 
be  understood  that  in  the  rapid  lapse  of  a 
few  hours,  and  in  process  of  the  four  phases 
into  which  I  have  been  transformed  before 
your  eyes,  I  have  been  decreasingly  to  your 
taste." 

"It  is  not  that  exactly.  For  me  you  con- 
tinue the  same,  and  not  only  have  you  not 
deteriorated  in  other  respects,  but  you  have 
gained." 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  speak  to  you  with 
words  absolutely  clean  and  truthful,  avoiding 
all  euphemism,  hypocrisy  or  falsehood,  and 
giving  to  the  feelings  the  name  that  befits 
them?" 

"That  is  the  way  I  should  like  us  to  talk." 

"You  said  a  moment  ago  that  for  you  I 
continue  to  be  the  same.  I  suppose  you 
meant  the  same  man,  the  same  individual,  the 
same  essential  personality,  that  appeared  to 
you  behind  that  shrub."  Perpetua  assented. 


60  PBOMETHEUS 

"In  fact,  that  was  I  in  my  most  concrete  in- 
dividuality. Presently  you  came  to  know  little 
by  little,  gradually,  my  social  entity,  that  com- 
plexity of  usages,  customs,  costumes,  conven- 
tionalisms, and  other  externalities  that  compose 
the  social  entity,  and  which,  in  the  majority  of 
cases,  serve  only  to  conceal  the  paltriness  of 
the  concrete  individuality.  Do  I  make  myself 
clear?"  Perpetua  assented.  "Let  us  take 
a  leap  in  our  ideas.  Let  us  imagine  the 
procedure  of  a  Spanish  girl  who  marries. 
She  makes  the  acquaintance  of  her  betrothed 
at  a  ball  or  on  a  walk,  that  is  to  say,  she 
becomes  acquainted  with  the  most  external 
externality  of  the  individual  who  one  day  is 
to  be  her  husband.  Gradually,  as  intimacy 
and  confidence  become  more  closely  estab-. 
lished,  it  is  possible  that  she  comes  to  see  her 
sweetheart  in  his  shirtsleeves,  in  a  bath- 
sheet What  is  certain  is  that  she  will 

not  see  him  as  you  saw  me  until  they  are 
married."  Mark  made  a  very  thoughtful 
pause.  "We  have  begun  at  the  end."  Mark 
made  another  pause,  and  prolonged  it  until 
Perpetua  spoke. 

"And   how   would   you   have   matters   ar- 
ranged?" asked  Perpetua,  taking  the  colloquy 


PROMETHEUS  61 

in  a  festive  sense.  "I  hope  you  don't  expect 
people  to  go  to  balls  and  promenades  as  they 
came  into  the  world,  with  some  foliage  as  their 
only  garment.  That  would  be  a  sight!"  she 
ended  with  a  strained  laugh. 

"Yes,  that  would  be  a  sight.  But  do  not 
be  untrue  to  yourself.  We  have  agreed  to 
employ  transparent,  truthful  words,"  said 
Mark  gravely,  "Granted  what  the  human 
race  has  ended  in,  it  is  certainly  impossible 
for  marriages  to  be  arranged,  the  contracting 
parties  having  previously  made  each  other's 
acquaintance  in  their  concrete  individualities. 
Do  you  understand  me?" 

"Too  well." 

"But  that  it  cannot  be  does  not  mean  that 
it  ought  not  to  be.  Marriage  should  be  a 
matter  of  the  selection  of  the  species.  And 
what  is  forbidden  the  generality  of  people  is 
granted  to  others  selected  by  providential 
means.  An  ancient  philosopher  did  not  want 
unions  to  take  place  except  between  individ- 
uals perfect  and  suited  to  each  other.  And 
he  desired  even  more:  that  the  fruit  of  these 
unions,  should  it  be  born  defective,  should 
not  be  allowed  to  live."  A  pause.  Perpetua 
walked  with  thoughtful  head.  "Do  you  not 


62  PTtOMKTJIEUS 

find  something  providential  in  our  meeting?" 

"Yes." 

"And,  upon  seeing  me,  did  you  experience 
some  feeling  of  a  distinctly  different  kind 
from  any  you  had  experienced  up  to  that 
time?" 

"I  do  not  know  how  to  explain  myself, 
and  not  appear  immodest." 

"Speak  sincerely." 

"I  will  tell  you  that  of  all  the  men  I  have 
known,  not  one  has  inspired  me  with  any 
other  feeling  than  calm  and  natural  friend- 
ship. I  could  not  see  in  them  beings  differ- 
ent from  myself, — how  shall  I  put  it? — men. 
They  seemed  to  me  rather  more  girl  friends 
than  men  friends;  not  very  intimate  girl 
friends,  either,  and  therefore,  tiresome  to  have 
to  do  with  very  frequently.  Perhaps  the 
fact  that  no  one  has  made  love  to  me  has 
helped  to  bring  this  about.  Many  times  I 
have  questioned  myself,  what  is  love?  When 
I  see  pairs  of  sweethearts,  or  my  friends 
tell  me  their  love-affairs,  they  produce  on  me 
the  effect  of  people  full  of  pretense,  affected, 
fond  of  make  believe  and  exaggeration;  and 
within  themselves  empty  or  untrue.  When 
I  saw  you I  am  going  to  be  honest, 


PROMETHEUS  63 

my  first  thought  was:  How  handsome  that 
man  is  !  It  was  the  first  time  that  my  thought 
spelled  out  the  word  man.  Afterwards,  dur- 
ing the  hours  we  have  spent  together,  I  have 
thought  frequently:  I  could  spend  my  whole 
life  at  Mark's  side  without  growing  weary. 
I  cannot  tell  you  more  now." 

For  a  long  time  they  did  not  speak. 
Suddenly  Mark  said: 

"When  should  you  like  us  to  be  married?" 

"Whenever  you  please." 

"Well,  then,  next  month." 

They  continued  in  silence  all  afternoon. 
On  their  way  back  from  their  walk,  it  was 
night  and  the  moon  was  shining. 

"One  thing  I  should  like  you  to  explain 
to  me,  Mark.  You  have  been  speaking  of 
marriage  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  breeding 
horses,  dogs,  or  thoroughbred  pigs.  If  it  is 
only  that  —  I  do  not  want  to  marry." 

iei  but  besides,  it  is  love." 


Mark  took  Perpetua's  hand  and  gazed  into 
her  eyes,  filled  with  the  moonlight.  Perpetua 
tried  to  repeat  the  last  word,  but  her  throat 
was  voiceless. 

The  Meanas  were  reputed,  among  their 
acquaintances,  a  clan  of  cave-dwellers.  Their 


64  PROMETHEUS 

voracity  was  phenomenal.  The  Marchioness 
said  it  was  heavenly  to  see  them  eat.  The 
one  who  ate  and  drank  the  most  was  Don 
Tesifonte.  But  his  offspring,  masculine  as 
well  as  feminine,  scarcely  yielded  him  the 
advantage. 

That  night,  after  supper,  Don  Tesifonte 
said,  addressing  Mark: 

"I  am  fifty."  (He  dropped  off  seven.) 
"Never  have  I  run  across  any  one  who 
rivaled  me  in  eating  and  drinking,  unless 
it  be  my  children.  But  to-night,  Mr. 
Setinano,  you  have  humbled  my  vanity.  I 
did  not  think  any  one  could  surpass  me. 
You  can  beat  me  twice  over." 

"Excellent  Don  Tesifonte,"  replied  Mark, 
"I  eat  thus  because  I  am  in  love,  and  the 
same  thing  happens  to  me  as  to  the  Immor- 
tals who  inhabit  the  immeasurable  Ouranos. 
Love  does  not  take  away  my  appetite;  it 
fortifies  it.  Because  love  needs  sustenance  to 
attain  the  plenitude  of  its  fruition  and  I  am 
the  father  of  the  future  Prometheus." 

"I  must  retract  my  words,  Mr.  Setinano. 
Now  I  do  not  acknowledge  your  superiority, 
because  drink  does  not  lead  me  into  any 
aberrations." 


PROMETHEUS  65 

"Oh,  excellent  father-in-law!"  concluded 
Mark,  before  the  stupefied  company.  "The 
fact  is  you  have  not  understood  me."  And 
he  gave  vent  to  a  shout  of  laughter  veritably 
Olympic. 


«l 


V-PROMETHEUS  Oh  human  body>  temPl*  °f 

Beauty, 

Poor  pagan  temple, 
The    lamp    of    the    soul    was 

without   oil, 
Was  lifeless. 
Dawn-light     has     Uft     tht 

temple; 

It  has  fallen  into  dark  ruin. 
The  gods  have  lost  their  fol- 
lowers, 
Have     fled     like     drifting 

shadows, 

Have  fled  to  hide  them,  weep- 
ing, 

Behind  the  scriptural  fig-trees. 
Thither  they  are  pursued 
By   wavering   shapes   of  vic- 
tims. 

Dim,  far-away, 
Odysseus  passes, 
Wailing   for  wrath   and   sor- 
row. 

Odysseus,  bow  slung  on  shoul- 
der, 

The  bow  of  his  misdeeds. 
A  voice  unknown 
Speaks  with  a  benign  music: 
"Odysseus,  man  of  might, 
Whose  gaze  was  fixed  so  high, 
Whose  arrow  was  loosed 
Against  the  very  heavens 
That  brood  over  all, 
If  again  you  aim  at  the  sky, 
Take   care   to    tip    the   arrow 

with  your  soul 
Securely   caught, 
With  your  own  soul  of  grief: 
Then  with  determined  will 
Send  it  flying  into  the  sky" 


PRING  was  on  the  point  of 
merging  into  summer,  as  if  it 
obeyed  the  behest  of  a  joyous 
myth,  when  Perpetua  an- 
nounced to  Mark  that  they  were 
going  to  have  a  child.  Mark,  who  was  in  a 
dressing  gown,  working  up  some  notes  for  his 
class,  raised  the  skirt,  and  with  it  covered  his 
head. 

"What  are  you  doing?" 
"Shedding  tears  of  joy,  and  as  manly  deco- 
rum prevents  my  showing  my  face  with  tears 
on  it,  I  cover  it  over  with  my  dressing  gown, 
which  I  wish  indeed  were  a  tunic  or  peplus." 
Immediately  he  rose,   held  his  wife  in   a 
close  embrace,  and  broke  forth  into  cries  of 
enthusiasm. 

In  the  tender  nights  of  spring,  husband 
and  wife  leaned  out  of  their  sun  parlor,  their 
hands  lovingly  enlaced.  She  felt  within  her 
being,  crowned  with  happiness,  the  throb  of 
the  great  coming  life,  and  he  also  thought 

67 


68  PROMETHEUS 

he  felt  its  harmonious  pulsation  communicated 
to  him  through  the  sweet  and  diligent  hands 
of  his  wife.  Before  the  gallery  rose  a  hill, 
and  on  its  summit  a  cemetery  set  with  solemn 
trees.  Pale  flashes  of  lightning  at  times 
lighted  up  the  horizon,  like  the  sudden  wink 
of  an  enormous  pupil.  And  Mark  invoked 
Prometheus,  who  stole  the  living  fire  and  gave 
it  for  the  use  of  man.  Occasionally  they 
pressed  each  other's  hands  with  greater  force, 
as  if  making  a  silent  compact  of  mutual  con- 
fidence in  destiny,  and  they  sobbed,  theip 
hearts  almost  leaping  from  their  breasts. 

The  moment  arrived  in  which  the  prophecies 

must   be   fulfilled,    and   the   eagerly   desired 

hero  emerge  from  nebulous  omens  into  the 

J     turmoil  of  terrestrial  struggles:   the  throes  of 

childbirth. 

"Are  you  casting  me  from  the  gynaBcium?" 
sighed  Mark  when  they  banished  him  from 

the  sufferer's  room. 

i 

Excited  and  frowning,  he  paced  the  pass- 
age with  great  strides.  Heavy  silence 
brooded  over  the  house.  The  mother  accepted 
the  agony  of  her  trial  with  mute  energy. 

The  midwife  went  in,  a  weazened,  expec- 


PROMETHEUS  69 

torating  old  woman,  with  horn-rimmed 
glasses,  and  her  sleeves  rolled  up. 

Mark  went  into  one  of  the  rooms.  Lolling 
in  an  armchair,  the  doctor  was  reading  a 
newspaper. 

"Not  yet?"  asked  Mark. 

"Not  yet." 

Mark  escaped  into  the  passage,  and  then 
into  the  sun  parlor.  A  sinister  idea  sud- 
denly insinuated  itself  into  his  brain.  Sup- 
pose a  deformed  child  were  born  to  him!  He 
began  to  quiver.  His  heart  rose  to  God: 
"Who  can  make  clean  a  creature  conceived  in 
corruption  unless  it  be  Thou  alone,  oh  God?" 
He  raised  his  hands  to  his  temples  as  if  on 
the  point  of  swooning.  Immediately,  some- 
thing like  a  resplendent  smile  suffused  his 
heart,  and  rose  to  his  lips.  Something  mys- 
terious and  hidden  sang  in  his  soul,  giving 
promise  of  a  sturdy  flower  of  his  own  familiar 
garden. 

From  the  depths  of  the  nuptial  chamber 
began  to  rise  various  hushed  noises;  panting, 
steps,  hoarseness,  sobs. 

Mark  had  refused  to  inform  Perpetua's 
family.  He  was  alone,  and  he  was  like  a 
man  distraught. 


70  PROMETHEUS 

The  physician,  tapping  his  shoulder,  said 
to  him: 

"You  can  go  in  now." 

"All  right?" 

"Yes,  a  boy." 

Mark  rushed  into  the  bedroom.  The  mid- 
wife was  bathing  the  new  born  child.  It  was 
a  repulsive,  sickly  creature,  with  distended 
cranium  and  crooked  back.  Prometheus! 
The  mother,  with  scarcely  audible  voice, 
murmured : 

"What  is  he  like?    Kiss  him." 

And  as  Mark,  stupefied,  stirred  neither 
hand  nor  foot,  she  insisted: 

"Kiss  him." 

Half  crazed  with  grief,  Mark  put  his  lips 
to  that  wretched,  pitiful  flesh,  which  held 
.  such  great  and  heroic  dreams.  Then  he  ap- 
proached Perpetua's  bed,  sank  on  his  knees, 
and  put  his  head  on  her  pillow.  There,  by 
the  sweet,  feverish  face,  wax-colored,  and 
made  translucent  by  the  mystery  of  mother- 
hood, he  cried  hopelessly,  with  utter  abandon, 
like  a  child. 

A  dog  was  howling  in  the  street.  A  bell 
tolled  a  death-knell. 

The  mother  suckled  the  child.    He  grew  up 


PROMETHEUS  71 

rickety,  and  the  sinuosity  of  his  back  defined 
itself  as  a  round  hump.  He  was  excep- 
tionally precocious.  At  six,  such  audacity 
was  displayed  by  his  face,  fine  drawn  and 
sharp  as  a  blade,  so  penetratingly  would  he 
stare  older  people  through  and  through,  and 
so  morosely  would  his  eyes  flash,  that  one 
could  only  say  that  in  him  was  lodged  some 
malevolent  jiprifa^  Mark  translated  the  ex- 
pression of  his  child  in  these  words:  "Why 
did  you  bring  me  into  the  world?"  His 
parents  surrounded  him  constantly  with  al- 
most tearful  lovingkindness.  But  Prometheus 
was  churlish,  and  rejected  with  coldness  the 
fondling  of  those  at  home.  With  outsiders, 
on  the  contrary,  and  with  visitors  to  the 
house,  sisters  and  friends  of  Perpetua's,  he 
was  caressing  and  tiresome.  The  youngster 
snuggled  between  the  knees  of  the  women, 
resting  his  head  on  their  laps.  They  stroked 
him  with  negligent  gloved  hands  while  they 
gabbled  nothings.  At  times,  Prometheus 
would  seize  a  gloved  feminine  hand,  breathe 
in  its  odor,  and  kiss  it.  Whenever  he  no- 
ticed that  any  lady  looked  at  him  pityingly, 
he  would  leap  to  his  feet,  and  run  out  of  the 


72  PROMETHEUS 

room  unsociably.  He  would  hide  in  a  corner 
and  cry,  and  then  refuse  to  eat. 

Mark  confined  his  agony  within  a  wall  of 
silence.  His  wife,  gentle  and  faithful,  di- 
vined the  gloomy  course  of  his  thoughts,  and 
tried  to  placate  them  by  softly  kissing  his 
brow  on  which  the  hair  had  turned  white. 

At  seven,  Prometheus  went  to  school.  His 
father  took  him  the  first  day.  He  implored 
fro'm  the  master  leniency  for  the  pupil.  He 
was  taking  him  to  school  above  all  for  him  to 
entertain  himself  with  the  friendship  and 
games  of  the  other  boys,  not  for  him  to  learn, 
for  there  was  more  than  enough  time  for 
learning,  granted  indeed  that  knowledge  was 
of  any  use.  More  than  sufficiently  meditative 
on  his  own  account  was  Prometheus.  The 
master  promised  to  be  indulgent.  And  he 
was. 

The  professor's  child  enjoyed  privileges 
and  immunities  which  the  unruly  mob  of  pu« 
pils  coveted.  They  revenged  themselves  dur- 
ing the  recesses  by  mocking  the  little  hunch- 
back and  calling  him  nicknames.  When 
Prometheus  caught  the  insults,  his  lower 
lip,  prominent  and  with  a  premature  down, 
would  take  on  a  ghastly  yellowishness. 


PROMETHEUS  73 

Then,  beside  himself,  and  in  a  frenzy,  he 
would  charge  like  a  gigantic  spider  upon 
the  insulter,  and  bite  and  scratch  him.  He 
made  himself  feared. 

Years  were  passing.  The  tall  young  boys 
went  forth  to  grammar  and  high  school;  new 
pupils  entered.  And  Prometheus  was  still 
in  primary. 

Prometheus  protested  daily,  with  outbursts 
of  furious  anger,  against  his  sailor  suits. 
He  tore  them  to  tatters.  He  wanted  to  dress 
like  a  man.  He  was  now  fourteen.  They 
ordered  a  young  man's  clothes  for  him. 
Prometheus  was  eager  to  put  them  on,  and 
look  at  himself  in  the  glass.  Seeing  himself 
in  such  attire  more  humpbacked  than  ever,  he 
rushed  against  the  mirror,  giving  howls  of 
pain.  His  mother  wanted  to  take  him  in  her 
arms,  and  he  struck  her.  Again  he  put  on 
sailor  suits,  with  large  blue  collars  which 
covered  over  the  hump. 

In  the  school,  he  came  to  be  a  petty  king,  y 
consecrated  by  his  age,  and  by  the  tolerance 
of  the   master.      He  had  his   favorites   and 
his  gloomy  hatreds,  which  he  satisfied  with  ab- 
normal rancor. 

Through  a  whim  which  his  mother  failed 


74  PBOMETHEUS 

to  understand,  and  although  the  school  was 
but  a  few  steps  away,  Prometheus  refused  to 
go  unless  accompanied  by  the  maid,  who  also 
went  for  him  when  school  was  over,  and  the 
two  would  go  walking  in  the  park.  There 
came  a  time  when  Prometheus  refused  to 
return  to  the  public  promenades.  He  hated 
frequented  places  where  he  saw  his  former 
companions  now  gallivanting  in  incipient  love 
affairs. 

The  maid,  Louise  by  name,  and  Prome- 
theus began  to  go  out  every  afternoon  into 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  into  the 
adjacent  villages.  They  traversed  in  silence 
gentle  fields,  leafy  woods.  The  cows  grazed 
to  the  sound  of  the  drowsy  copper  bells.  On 
the  farms  they  would  take  warm  milk,  in  the 
shelter  of  the  barns. 

One  day  Louise  announced  to  her  mistress 
her  intention  of  leaving.  No  one  was  able  to 
find  out  why. 

Prometheus  received  the  news  of  Louise's 
departure  with  stolid  countenance.  On  the 
day  following,  he  went  to  school  alone. 
When  school  was  out,  he  went  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  environs  of  the  city  as  usual.  He 
penetrated  into  a  shady  lane  bordered  by  the 


PROMETHEUS  75 

high  wall  of  a  convent.  The  vesper  voice  of 
the  organ  could  be  heard.  He  came  to  a 
sloping  meadow,  of  disagreeable  color,  with  a 
red  path  furrowing  it,  and  by  this  path 
Prometheus  descended.  Behind  some  fig  trees 
a  blue  smoke  ascended  to  the  heavens.  Prome- 
theus walked  an  hour  cross-country,  at  random. 
He  sat  down  on  a  white,  polished  stone  on  the 
edge  of  a  road.  It  was  nightfall.  A  milk- 
maid came  along,  with  much  swishing  of 
skirts,  her  arms  akimbo,  her  jug  on  her 
head.  When  she  was  near,  Prometheus  came 
out  to  meet  her. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  little  milk?  I'll  pay 
you  well.  I'm  thirsty,"  he  said. 

His  voice  had  choked.  He  stretched  out 
his  convulsed,  bony  hands  towards  the 
peasant. 

The  milkmaid,  not  as  yet  recovered  from 
her  amazement,  was  gazing  at  Prometheus 
from  top  to  toe.  She  crossed  herself. 

"Heaven  defend  me:  it  is  the  devil." 

And  letting  fall  her  jug,  she  fled,  im- 
pelled by  terror.  And  Prometheus  ran  after 
her. 

"Why  are  you  running  away?  Why  are 
you  running  away?" 


76  PROMETHEUS 

He  could  not  reach  her.  He  threw  stones 
after  her. 

He  stamped  his  feet,  and  foamed  at  the 
mouth. 

And  by  that  time  it  was  deep  night. 

Very  early  in  the  morning,  Telva  de  Nola 
left  the  farmhouse  to  milk  the  cows,  humming 
an  old  ditty  as  she  went.  She  stopped, 
speechless.  She  made  an  effort,  and  shouted: 

"Nolo!  Nolo!  By  the  souls  of  the 
blessed!" 

Nolo,  dazed  with  sleep,  peeped  out  of  an 
excuse  for  a  window,  framed  in  by  a  wild 
grapevine. 

"What's  that  thing  swinging  in  the  fig- 
tree?"  said  Telva. 

Nolo  came  down  to  make  a  closer  examina- 
tion. At  the  extremity  of  the  place,  dangling 
from  a  fig-tree,  the  body  of  Prometheus 
danced  in  the  breeze,  misshapen  and  un- 
substantial,  like  an  untimely  fruit. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE 

HOUSE  OF  LIMON 


TO  ENRIQUE  DE  MESA 


Yesterday  they  were  two  fresh  roses, 

White  and  red  like  milk,  like  bright  strawberries; 

To-day  they  are  two  poor  dried-up  roses 

Withered,  brown. 

Yesterday  their  thorns  thrust  outward, 

An  adornment,  a  defense; 

To-day  their  hearts  are  pierced  .    .    . 

The    thorns   turned  cruel  arrows. 

All  the  world  stooped  down 

To  breathe  their  breath; 

To-day  all  the  world 

Treads  them  underfoot. 

Oh,  sadness  of  two  withered  roses 

Trodden  upon  by  every  one  .    .  . 

Whither  has  such  beauty 

Vanished? 


HE  story  I  am  going  to  relate 
happened  some  years  ago.  I 
became  acquainted  with  its  cir- 
cumstances and  development 
because  the  final  chapter,  which 
was  the  first  I  knew  of  it,  interested  me  pro- 
foundly. 

I  was  then  studying  for  my  doctorate  in 
the  department  of  Law.  A  freshman  as 
regards  the  windings  and  sinuosities  of 
Madrid,  after  many  and  strange  lodgings  in 
hotels,  inns,  taverns,  boarding  houses,  and 
other  asylums  of  the  same  character — which, 
as  soon  as  occupied,  I  hastened  to  desert, 
either  because  they  were  too  expensive,  or  too 
ugly,  or  too  dirty — I  finally  arrived,  like  a 
ship  sighting  land,  at  the  home  of  dona  Trina, 
an  excellent  person,  a  native  of  Alcarria,* 

*  A  region  of  the  province  of  Cuenca,  famous  for  its  honey. 

79 


80       THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

of  considerable  avoirdupois,  a  honeylike  dis- 
position, and  with  a  well  supplied  pantry. 

At  the  common  table  sat  about  thirty 
boarders,  many  of  them  permanent,  the  ma- 
jority transients,  all  of  them  plain  people, 
and  good  pay. 

I  remember  a  peculiarity  of  the  house.  It 
was  that  it  never  lacked  a  patient  who  had 
come  to  Madrid  for  an  operation,  or  who 
had  just  gone  through  with  one,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  the  odor  of  fried  oil,  which 
is  the  specific  scent  or  smell  of  Spanish 
homes,  yielded  a  portion  of  its  sovereignty 
to  the  odor  of  iodoform.  And  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  determine  which  was  worse.  It  also 
frequently  happened  that  we  had  with  us  a 
bride  and  groom  from  one  of  the  provinces  on 
their  honeymoon.  This  gave  us  an  opportunity 
for  jests — and  for  envy. 

At  the  table  presided  by  customary  right, 
a  representative  from  the  province  of  Col- 
menar  de  la  Oreja,  a  pompous  and  silly  man, 
if  ever  there  were  one,  who  made  boast  of 
intimate  intercourse  with  bullfighters  and 
politicians,  and  was  the  owner  of  a  nose 
which  one  never  tired  of  gazing  at,  because 
it  did  not  fit  into  any  patterns  or  scheme 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON      81 

ordinarily  recognized  as  that  of  the  human 
nose. 

Intercourse  at  the  common  table  was  ex- 
ceedingly informal.  There  was  not  a  single 
newcomer  who,  by  the  end  of  the  meal,  was 
not  taking  a  share  in  the  general  conversa- 
tion, addressing  each  one,  of  course,  by  his 
right  name  or  surname.  The  transient 
guests  were,  as  a  rule,  simple  and  rustic 
folk.  They  considered  themselves  obliged  at 
the  very  start  to  give  a  detailed  account  of 
their  lives.  In  exchange  they  felt  they  had 
a  right  to  examine  closely  into  the  lives  of 
the  other  guests. 

One  day,  at  the  noontide  meal,  appeared 
two  women  decidedly  past  their  first  youth,  and 
very  similar  in  appearance.  They  were  seated 
midway  between  the  other  boarders  at  one 
side  of  the  table.  During  the  luncheon,  the 
strangers  remained  with  eyes  lowered,  and 
heads  bent  over  their  plates.  They  ate  very 
sparingly.  They  took  no  part  in  the  con- 
versation; rather,  it  was  plain  to  see,  they 
avoided  it.  They  were  like  two  sphinxes. 
They  seemed  withdrawn  from  everything 
about  them.  No  less  than  three  times  did 
the  leader  of  the  republican  party  of  Tara- 


82      THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON 

zona,  a  citizen  of  unusual  loquacity,  and  with 
a  luxuriant  beard  parted  in  the  middle  like 
the  udder  of  a  goat,  direct  the  brilliance  of 
his  oratory  against  the  silent  ladies.  Their 
only  reply  was  silence,  and  the  interlocutor 
remained  discomfited.  The  same  thing  hap- 
pened to  don  Raimundo  Perejil,  a  canon  of 
Atocha,  a  gentle  and  kindly  man.  Conse- 
quently, the  conversation  began  to  languish, 
like  a  sail  without  wind.  All  felt  in  a  vague 
manner  repressed.  All  continued  to  search 
narrowly  the  faces  of  the  women,  at  first  with 
misgivings  and  surreptitiously,  then  with  all 
boldness  and  insolence. 

No  sooner  was  the  meal  over  than  least  as 
well  as  greatest  began  to  hover  about  dona 
Trina  inquiring  curiously  as  to  the  newcomers. 
Strange  and  unwonted  state  of  affairs !  Dona 
Trina,  who  was  indeed  admirable  in  many  of 
her  qualities,  but  not  in  the  least  discreet,  ex- 
tricated herself  by  means  of  skilful  and  evasive 
replies.  Here  was  a  great  mystery. 

At  suppertime  the  strangers  maintained  the 
same  impenetrable  attitude.  And  it  was  the 
same  on  the  days  following.  At  last  nobody 
paid  any  further  attention  to  them.  But  they 
continued  to  disturb  me,  and  finally  came  to 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON      83 

engross  my  thoughts.  At  table,  with  as  much 
caution  as  persistence,  I  devoted  myself  to 
spying  upon  them,  hoping  to  discover  some 
key  or  cipher  by  which  to  clear  up  the  mys- 
tery. 

They  were  of  uncertain  age.  Both  were 
well  within  that  lengthy  period  of  time  which 
extends  from  the  moment  a  woman  begins  to 
lose  her  youth,  freshness,  and  attraction  to  the 
time  when  all  womanly  grace  and  beauty  come 
to  an  end;  a  period  which  lasts  from  the  age 
of  thirty,  or  even  less,  to  fifty  or  somewhat 
later,  and  which  unfolds  by  such  subtle  and 
individual  gradations  that  it  is  then  almost 
impossible  to  tell  a  woman's  age ;  and  it  is  due 
to  this  that  women  are  able  to  lessen,  or  to 
dissemble  their  years.  These  two  women 
might  easily  have  been  taken  for  five,  ten  or 
twenty  years  younger  than  they  really  were. 
They  resembled  each  other  very  closely.  Their 
complexion  was  dull  brown,  the  color  of  bread 
crust.  Although  they  were  not  thin,  the  bones 
of  the  cranium  could  plainly  be  detected  be- 
neath their  skin.  Their  eyebrows  were  straight 
like  those  of  a  Roman  statue,  and  joined  by  a 
narrow  intermediate  zone  where  the  hairs  were 
scanty.  Their  eyelids,  puffed  up,  distended, 


84       THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

and  with  few  eyelashes,  were  shaped  like  a 
mouth  with  swollen,  half -open  lips,  such  eye- 
lids as  for  many  years  preserve  a  drooping, 
youthful  appearance  and  in  late  middle  age 
change  suddenly  into  the  typical  lids  of  old 
age,  shriveled  and  flabby.  Their  mouths 
closed  tightly.  Upon  their  upper  lips  and 
cheeks  was  an  abundant  down.  The  differ- 
ence in  age  was  manifested  by  the  more 
shrunken  appearance  of  the  one,  the  more 
plump  appearance  of  the  other;  the  eyelids  of 
the  latter  were  still  almost  perfect  as  if  well 
filled  out,  while  those  of  the  other  were  already 
becoming  sharply  elongated;  the  silky,  unde- 
fined down  of  the  one  corresponded  to  the  stiff, 
coarse  hairs  of  the  other.  Their  hair,  alike  in 
the  two,  parted  in  the  middle,  and  combed  close 
over  the  temples,  adorned  their  heads  with 
noble  austerity.  They  were  humbly  sorrow- 
ful. Their  grief,  whatever  might  be  the  cause, 
suggested  the  idea  of  a  woman's  destiny 
thwarted,  something  like  the  sadness  of  an  aged 
virginity.  Or,  as  is  said  in  the  unsparing 
language  of  every  day,  they  had  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  two  old  maids.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  they  belonged  to  a  good  provincial 
family,  and  that  they  had  come  upon  rare  occa- 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON      85 

sions  to  Madrid.  They  were  dressed  simply, 
in  dull  purple,  and  they  showed  by  certain 
details  that  they  were  persons  of  genuine, 
though  uncultivated  taste. 


II        In  heaven's  broad  meadows 

Two  champions  forever  challenge  each  other. 

One  is  Day,  the  white  warrior, 

The  other,  Night,  the  black  paladin. 

They  pursue  each  other;  they  never  meet; 

Above  the  earth  they  rid«   .    .    .   ride  .    .    . 

While  bells  in  the  towers 

Ring  their  passing. 

Angelus  of  dawn  sings 

Night  is  waning!    Night  is  gone! 

Angelus  of  twilight  cries 

Day  is  now  lost. 

In  distance. 

Ding  dong 

Bell  of  silver! 

There  is  born  a  man-child; 

Oh  white  mystery! 

Ding  dong 

Bell  of  bronze! 

Oh  somber  riddle! 

A   man  is  carried 

To  his  grave. 


II 


T  was  the  first  fortnight  in  May. 
In  the  afternoons  it  was  my 
custom  to  shut  myself  up  in  my 
room  to  prepare  my  lessons. 
Between  whiles,  and  seeking 
some  moments  of  respite  and  expansion,  I 
would  go  into  dona  Trina's  sewing  room.  At 
that  time,  dona  Trina's  only  daughter,  Mari- 
quita  by  name,  who  had  married  a  year  before, 
was  expecting  her  firstborn,  and  this,  by  the 
end  of  the  month.  In  the  sewing  room,  all  was 
industry,  hubbub,  and  whiteness,  in  prepara- 
tion of  the  baby's  layette.  Dona  Trina  was 
bursting  with  joy,  and  I  also  took  pleasure  in 
seeing  and  hearing  the  good  lady. 

Dona  Trina  was  eminently  maternal  and 
sedentary.  These  two  salient  traits  of  her 
makeup  were  manifested  in  the  form  of  a 
glaring  allegory,  by  two  corresponding  physi- 
cal characteristics :  a  huge  bust,  and  enormous 
hips.  In  the  midst  of  that  chaos,  and  of  that 
tempestuous  mass  of  linens,  lawns,  laces  and 

87 


88       THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

embroideries,  dona  Trina  stood  out,  majestic 
and  somber,  like  a  ship  of  heavy  tonnage  en- 
gulfed in  foam. 

The  only  thing  which  disturbed  the  white 
tranquillity  were  certain  polemic  disquisitions 
upon  the  sex  of  the  infant.  Mariquita  wanted 
it  to  he  a  hoy.  Dona  Trina  would  have  none 
of  it.  Arguments  were  presented  on  one  side 
and  the  other.  Once  Mariquita  ended  by 
saying: 

"Well,  I  want  it  to  be  a  boy,  so  there!  I 
wish  it,  and  that  settles  it!"  And  she  made 
appealing  little  faces  as  if  she  were  going  to 
cry. 

"Hush,  hush,  goosey,  you  don't  know  what 
you  are  saying,"  replied  dona  Trina,  with 
brooding  brows  and  in  a  tone  of  severity. 

Dona  Trina  faultfinding?  Dona  Trina  se- 
vere? This  was  for  me,  both  surprising  and 
extraordinary.  She  continued: 

"A  boy?  That  is  to  say,  a  man?  How 
dreadful!  Haven't  you  before  you  the  exam- 
ple of  those  two  poor  women?  And  who  is 
to  tell  us  that  when  he  gets  to  be  a  man  he 
won't  turn  out  like  their  *  *  *" 

Dona  Trina  noticed  that  I  was  present.  She 
covered  her  mouth  with  her  hand  and  stopped. 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON      89 

One  afternoon  on  entering  the  sewing  room 
I  encountered  something  unusual  which  at  the 
first  glance  filled  me  with  astonishment.  Min- 
gled with  the  white  materials  were  some  pieces 
of  black  woolen  and  satin.  The  two  strangers 
in  company  with  a  seamstress  were  cutting 
into  the  black  stuff.  Dona  Trina  and  Mari- 
quita  were  eagerly  sewing  on  the  white  gar- 
ments, without  taking  note  of  the  contrast. 
From  time  to  time  they  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  the  mysterious  women,  by  which 
I  found  out  that  the  elder  was  named  Fernanda 
and  the  younger  Dominica.  I  snuggled  down 
into  a  little  corner  in  order  to  be  out  of  the 
way. 

"At  least  two  dresses,  one  for  each  one  of 
us  must  be  finished  by  Saturday,  exactly  at 
twelve,"  said  Dominica. 

"And  they  will  even  be  done  by  ten,"  said 
the  seamstress. 

"By  ten?  What  would  be  the  use?  It  must 
be  at  noon.  At  noon,  Fernanda." 

Dominica  sighed. 

"At  noon,  Dominica,"  repeated  Fernanda 
shortly. 

There  was  a  long  silence.    I  returned  to  my 


90       THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON 

room,  but  could  not  study.  I  could  not  rest 
until,  taking  Mariquita  aside,  I  asked  her: 

"Tell  me,  Mariquita,  what  was  the  meaning 
of  all  that  about  exactly  twelve  o'clock." 

"It  means  that  before  twelve  they  will  not 
be  in  mourning,  and  from  noon  on  they  will." 

I  was  silent,  thoughtful,  and  oppressed. 
Mariquita  added: 

"Don't  you  understand?  You  will  under- 
stand when  I  tell  you  that  those  two  poor 
women  who  arouse  your  curiosity  so  much  are 
the  Misses  Limon,  of  the  Limones  of  Guadal- 
franco. 


Ill       Ancient  city  of  carven  stone, 
Of  clay  most  perishable, 
Eternity  fixed  to  all  Eternity, 
Vanity  of  things  that  pass, 
Nest  upon  the  lonely  cliff 
From  which  to  look  beyond, 
Haunt  of  the  bold  romancer, 
Eyrie  of  falcons  and  eagles 
Of  long  ago! 

Why  do  you  lie  there,  good  sir, 
In  the  dust  of  the  way? 
I  drained  to  the  dregs  the  wine 
In  my  cup  of  doom. 
To  sleep,  to  die, 
I  desire  nothing  further; 
I  clutched  with  hungry  hands 
The  fabulous  round  she<'.f 
Made  by  inconstant  seas 
And  changeless  lands 
Of  the  world; 
It  was  all  in  vain, 
A  vain  endeavor  .   .    . 
Said  the  dying  noble. 
Upon  his  brow  have  settled 
Th«  butterfly  of  dream, 
The  scorpion  of  sloth. 


Ill 

UADALFRANCO  is  an  old 
Spanish  city,  capital  of  the 
province  of  the  same  name. 
The  entire  province  is  a  pre- 
cipitous mountain  range,  with 
high  plateaus  and  torrential  rivers  flowing,  as 
it  were,  in  the  bottom  of  deep  troughs.  In  the 
heart  of  the  craggy  sierra,  upon  cliffs  which 
rise  sheer,  stands  the  ancient  city.  Although 
not  more  than  twenty  leagues  distant  from  the 
capital  of  the  kingdom,  yet  it  is  situated  in  so 
inaccessible  a  spot  that  to  reach  it  a  day  and  a 
night's  travel  are  necessary;  half  a  day  on  a 
wearisome  and  asthmatic  railway,  as  far  as 
Tendilla  de  los  Burdeganos,  and  from  this 
point  on,  another  half  day  in  a  far  from 
diligent  diligence. 

To  picture  the  degree  of  contempt  and  ob- 
scurity to  which  have  fallen  the  province  and 
city  of  Guadalfranco,  once  upon  a  time  re- 
nowned throughout  the  world,  it  will  suffice 
to  set  down  here  an  occurrence  which  will  re- 
veal how  unknown  both  city  and  province  are 

92 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON      93 

at  present,  even  to  Spaniards  themselves.  At 
a  certain  gathering  in  Madrid  people  were 
talking  of  the  city  of  Guadalfranco  when  one 
of  the  club  members,  a  famous  wit,  interrupted 
with  the  words: 

"Stop!  If  you  are  mentioning  Guadalfran- 
co in  fun,  all  right.  But  if  you  are  speaking 
seriously,  I  shall  not  stand  for  it,  because 
I  am  one  of  those  in  the  secret." 

"In  what  secret?" 

"In  the  secret  that  the  province  of  Guadal- 
franco does  not  exist." 

"You  say  it  doesn't  exist?" 

"No,  sir,  it  does  not  exist;  really,  I  tell  you 
that  there  is  no  such  province  as  Guadal- 
franco. Have  you  ever  been  in  the  province  of 
Guadalfranco?" 

"Certainly  not,  but  I  haven't  been  in  Pekin, 
either." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  but  you  see  Guadal- 
franco is  supposed  to  be  at  the  gates  of  Ma- 
drid, so  to  speak,  and  not  in  the  Celestial  Em- 
pire. Do  you  know  anyone  who  has  ever 
been  in  Guadalfranco?" 

"At  this  moment  I  do  not  remember.  ..." 

"Do  you  know  any  native,  man  or  woman, 
of  Guadalfranco?" 


94       THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON 

"The  truth  is,  I  don't  know.  .  .  ." 
The  person  who  was  in  the  secret  went  on 
asking  the  same  questions  of  all  those  present, 
one  after  another.  Nobody  had  been  in  Gua- 
dalfranco;  nobody  knew  anyone  who  had  been 
there,  or  who  came  from  there. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on  very  seriously  with 
the  joke,  "Guadalfranco  does  not  exist.  It  is 
a  province  invented  by  Sagasta.  It  is  a  prov- 
ince which  stands  on  the  Budget  of  the  State ; 
an  imaginary  entity;  one  which  lacks  a  real 
existence.  Search  the  time-tables  and  you  will 
find  that  no  railways  go  into  the  province  of 
Guadalfranco  but,  on  the  contrary,  that  they 
pass  by  on  the  edge  of  its  frontiers.  Imag- 
inary frontiers;  as,  of  course,  no  tickets  are 
issued  for  fairyland.  .  .  .  Sagasta  invented 
the  province,  and  the  way  of  it  was  as  follows : 
Once  again  prime  minister,  as  was  his  bounden 
duty,  he  devoted  himself  to  dividing  up  gen- 
erously among  his  followers,  friends,  hangers- 
on  and  cronies,  all  the  sinecures  and  all  the 
titbits  which  the  budget  allowed  him;  but 
he  found  that  he  had  not  enough  to  bestow  on 
all  those  who  w^ere  begging  him,  and  that  com- 
plaints, and  even  threats  were  innumerable. 
Sagasta,  however,  was  a  minister  of  inex- 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON      95 

haustible  resource  and  overpowering  inven- 
tiveness. Finding  himself  in  a  tight  place, 
it  occurred  to  him  to  make  a  new  territorial 
classification  of  Spain,  adding  to  it  one  more 
province  which  he  made  up  out  of  his  own 
head;  the  province  of  Guadalfranco  with  its 
fat  and  juicy  bishopric,  its  hospitable  chapter, 
its  civil  government,  its  delegation  to  the 
Treasury  Department,  and  all  these  over- 
stocked with  petty  officeholders,  etc.,  etc.  So 
he  satisfied  the  friends  who  until  then  had  re- 
mained empty  handed.  Positions  in  the  prov- 
ince of  Guadalfranco  are  the  pleasantest  and 
easiest  of  all,  because  in  order  to  occupy  them, 
one  does  not  have  to  leave  Madrid.  All  office 
holders  are  like  the  bishop  of  that  diocese: 
burocratas  in  partibus  infidelium" 

Some  of  his  hearers,  badly  up  on  geography, 
took  in  the  tale  as  if  it  were  trustworthy  his- 
tory. They  crossed  themselves  repeatedly  and 
exclaimed : 

"The  things  that  do  happen  in  this  unfor- 
tunate country!" 

There  are  so  many  Spanish  cities  that  seem 
to  have  been  invented  by  Sagasta!  Cities 
which  long  ago  were  heroic,  brave,  full  of  ac- 


96      TEE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

tivity,  and  teeming  with  life,  today  have  only 
an  imaginary  and  soporific  existence. 

In  a  census  which  dates  from  the  time  of 
Philip  II,  it  is  on  record  that  the  city  of 
Guadalfranco  embraced  within  its  fortified 
walls,  forty  thousand  homes,  with  an  equally 
large  voting  population.  It  had  a  worldwide 
reputation  for  its  woolen  fabrics,  the  temper 
of  its  steel,  and  the  tanning  and  perfuming* 
of  leather.  Pontifical  dignitaries,  Floren- 
tine gentlemen,  Venetian  senators,  English, 
French,  and  Flemish  noblemen  proudly  drew 
on  their  Guadalfranco  gloves.  Agriculture 
flourished  amazingly,  thanks  to  a  thousand  in- 
genious devices  by  which  the  Moors  watered 
and  cultivated  the  land,  which  was  specially 
adapted  to  the  cork  tree. 

In  our  day,  Guadalfranco  has  not  upwards 
of  20,000  inhabitants.  Its  cloth,  steel,  and 
leather  industries  have  disappeared.  Agricul- 
ture has  been  abandoned.  Many  of  its  houses, 
among  them  the  emblazoned  palaces  of  the  no- 
bility, are  deserted  and  fallen  to  decay.  With- 
in the  precincts  of  the  city  there  are  sixty 
churches,  the  majority  of  them  closed,  and 
more  than  a  hundred  convents,  all  of  them  of 

*  With  amber. 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON      97 

nuns.     Of  the  wealth  and  splendor  of  the 
past,  only  cork  trees  remain. 

Families  of  ancient  lineage  dwell  in  Gua- 
dalfranco,  but  they  have  fallen  to  such  low 
estate,  that,  in  general,  they  have  put  aside 
all  the  insignia  of  aristocracy.  The  house  of 
Uceda,  which  dates  from  the  reign  of  John 
II,  surpassed  all  others  in  ancestry  and  dis- 
tinction. The  founder  of  the  house  was  a 
certain  don  Eutropio  de  Uceda,  whose  prog- 
eny, though  innumerable,  was  illegitimate, 
because  his  wife,  dona  Guiomar  de  los  Arcos, 
remained  childless.  Juana  Orbanejo,  a  woman 
of  obscure  origin,  went  from  Avila  de  los  Ca- 
balleros  to  Guadalfranco,  as  waiting  maid  to 
dona  Guiomar.  Don  Eutropio  realizing  that 
his  line  would  die  with  him,  and  that  his  an- 
cestral acres  would  pass  on  to  his  brother's 
heirs,  began  adulterous  relations  with  Juana 
Orbanejo,  relations  doubly  adulterous,  because 
dona  Guiomar  was  living,  and  Juana  married 
to  Lope  Peralejo.  Several  children  were  born 
to  don  Eutropio  and  Juana,  children  who  were 
legitimized  by  royal  grant.  For  many  cen- 
turies the  family  enj  oyed  the  privilege  of  bur- 
ial in  the  church  of  San  Bartolome  y  Santiago, 
today  used  as  a  stable  in  the  barracks  of  the 


98       THE  FALL   OF  IRE  ROUSE  OF  LIMON 

civil  guard,  and  of  two  prominent  seats  in 
the  chancel,  one  for  the  head  of  the  house,  and 
the  other  for  his  wife.  This  noble  house  suf- 
fered innumerable  vicissitudes,  year  by  year 
its  possessions  were  diminished,  and  it  dragged 
on  in  a  concealed  and  humiliating  decadence. 
In  the  second  half  of  the  last  century,  the 
male  line  had  come  to  an  end,  and  Fernanda 
de  Uceda  was  the  last  of  the  house.  She  was 
twenty  years  of  age,  beautiful,  and  of  stately 
demeanor.  Fernanda  inhabited  the  old  an- 
cestral mansion  in  company  with  two  aunts, 
one  of  them  dona  Florentina  de  Uceda,  also 
a  spinster,  and  dona  Amparo  Urbina,  the 
childless  widow  of  one  of  the  Ucedas.  The 
two  aged  women  and  the  girl  lived  meagerly, 
concealing  their  poverty,  and  withdrawn  from 
social  intercourse.  They  went  out  seldom,  and 
then  only  to  church  early  of  a  morning. 

It  came  to  pass  that  one  of  the  partners  in 
a  certain  company  for  the  manufacture  of 
cork  stoppers  arrived  in  Guadalfranco,  to  col- 
lect arrears  of  cork  from  cork  trees  which 
vegetate  in  its  environs.  He  was  called  En- 
rique Limon.  He  was  young,  of  arrogant 
bearing,  and  fond  of  thrusting  himself  every- 
where. The  arrival  of  Enrique  Limon  in 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON      99 

Guadalfranco,  the  doddering  old  city,  was  like 
the  beginning  of  a  fresh  period  of  history.  He 
put  up  a  small  factory  for  which  he  had  to 
bring  in  masons  from  elsewhere,  as  in  Guadal- 
franco the  arts  of  bricklaying  and  building 
had  been  forgotten. 

From  time  immemorial  the  citizens  of  Gua- 
dalfranco had  been  in  the  habit  of  spending 
the  greater  portion  of  their  lives  in  hiding 
and  cowering  within  their  dens  or  lairs.  Pub- 
lic entertainments,  or  shows  of  any  kind,  were 
unknown.  The  first  thing  Limon  did  was  to 
found  a  casino,  and  lead  the  natives  astray  by 
means  of  the  delights  of  coffee,  the  emotions 
of  card  playing,  and  the  furies  of  political 
discussions.  He  had  newspapers  sent  from 
Madrid,  and  even  brought  down  a  company 
of  actors.  He  was  elected  representative  for 
Guadalfranco,  and  ended  by  becoming  lord 
and  master  of  the  entire  city  and  province. 

One  day  when  Limon  went  out  very  early 
in  the  morning,  he  happened  to  meet  the 
Ucedas  on  their  way  back  from  mass.  The 
street  was  so  narrow  that  one  standing  with 
arms  outstretched,  could  touch  either  side. 
Limon  was  able  to  view  at  close  range,  to  his 
entire  satisfaction,  and  without  giving  offense 


100     THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

by  his  boldness,  the  face  of  Fernanda.  He 
was  instantly  taken  with  the  girl,  and  deter- 
mined to  make  her  his  wife.  In  her  turn,  Fer- 
nanda fell  in  love  with  the  stranger.  Before 
the  marriage  was  arranged  there  was  serious 
disagreement  and  disputes  between  the  two 
aunts,  because  one  of  them  rejected  the  suitor 
,  and  refused  to  admit  him  into  the  family  un- 
der pretext  that  he  was  of  plebeian  blood. 
This  inflexible  and  punctilious  criterion  was 
maintained  by  dona  Amparo,  the  widow,  her- 
self a  parvenu,  and  neither  more  nor  less 
noble  than  Limon.  Dona  Florentina  argued, 
on  the  contrary,  very  sensibly,  that  all  that 
about  lineages  and  escutcheons  amounted  to 
a  mere  trifle,  and  that  there  was  nothing  very 
substantial  in  their  antiquity,  and  that  since 
Limon  seemed  a  gentleman  of  excellent  qual- 
ities, deeply  in  love  with  Fernanda,  and  with 
sufficient  money  to  restore  the  pristine  splen- 
dor of  the  family,  if^he  had  a  mindjp,  there 
was  no  reason  for  refusing  hiSu  Of  course 
dona  Florentina  triumphed. 

Fernanda  was  married  at  twenty-one.  Her 
husband  was  ten  years  her  senior.  Fernanda 
was  very  beautiful.  Her  greatest  charm  lay 
in  her  eyes,  the  outline  and  form  of  which  re- 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON     101 

called  the  mouth  of  a  child  with  both  lids  full 
and  rosy  like  two  lips.  When  her  eyes  re- 
garded one  affectionately,  she  almost  closed 
them,  so  that  one  might  say  she  listened  with 
them,  as  if  drinking  in  one's  words,  even  one's 
very  soul. 

The  marriage  was  blessed  with  many  chil- 
dren. The  firstborn,  a  girl,  was  named  after 
her  mother.  Every  year  another  child  came. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  house  of  Uceda  was  has- 
tening its  extinction  by  this  late  abundance, 
as  happens  in  the  case  of  wounds,  the  most 
copious  effusion  of  which  is  followed  by  death. 
Fernanda  the  firstborn  lived,  but  her  brothers 
and  sisters  died  shortly  after  birth.  Thirteen 
died  one  after  the  other,  until  another  girl 
came,  named  Dominica.  The  mother  was 
forty  years  old.  She  was  then  faded  and  thin, 
a  bundle  of  skin  and  bones.  Enrique  Limon 
who  with  the  passing  of  the  years  had  wearied 
of  Guadalfranco  and  of  his  home,  lived  most 
of  the  time  in  Madrid,  neglecting  his  business 
affairs  shamefully.  The  only  thing  he  at- 
tended to,  and  secured  more  and  more  firmly, 
was  his  political  leadership.  Six  years  after 
Dominica's  birth,  and  when  no  one  looked  for 
such  a  thing,  another  child  was  born,  a  boy, 


102     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

who  was  given  the  name  of  Arias,  after  a 
distinguished  ancestor,  the  conqueror  of  vast 
kingdoms  in  the  western  world.  The  mother 
died  in  childbirth.  The  baby,  although  feeble 
and  sickly,  clung  to  life.  * 

And  so,  the  Limones  of  Guadalfranco  were 
reduced  to  father  and  three  children. 


Dawns  of  pearl!    Fairyland! 

White  doves  flying  through  fragrances, 

Old  wizard  Merlins 

Hold  their  enchantments 

Prisoned  in  crystal 

Under  a  spell. 

Prince  Charming  passes 

And  the  queen  with  him, 

Dressed  in  fine  robes. 

Then  the  nurse  follows 

Dressed  in  green  homespun 

And  the  great  mastiff 

Paces  with  her. 

Now  master  linnet, 

Laurel^croivned  poet, 

Sings  to  the  prince 

A  thousand  sweet  words. 

The  world  is  a  country 

Endless,  enchanted; 

You  of  that  domain 

Are  rightful  lord. 

But  Blackbird,  hearing, 

Out  of  his  wisdom 

Gloomily  truthful, 

Cries  "Nay,  Your  Highness, 

May  the  enchantment 

Nevermore  vanish!" 


IV 


ERNANDA  was  twenty-two 
years  old,  and,  therefore,  of 
marriageable  age  when  Arias 
was  born.  She  had  been  wooed 
by  many  a  well-to-do  towns- 
man, and  rich  farmer.  But,  either  because  the 
appearance  of  her  lovers  and  suitors  repelled 
her,  or  because  their  low  estate  was  not  to  her 
taste,  the  fact  is  she  scorned  them  all.  Her 
character  was  arid  and  imperious.  She  never 
wasted  a  word.  From  earliest  childhood,  she 
was  wont  to  be  present  at  every  gathering  held 
at  home  by  her  father,  gatherings  attended  by 
his  assistants,  parasites,  agents,  subordinates 
and  deputies  in  the  domain  of  political  bossism. 
She  was  an  imp,  and  nobody  took  notice  of 
her.  Crouching  behind  a  piece  of  furniture  she 
drank  in  rather  than  listened  to  their  words, 
gazing  at  everyone  attentively  with  her  eyes 
formed  like  two  mouths.  One  day,  finally, 
when  she  was  already  a  woman,  she  locked  her- 
self in  with  her  father  and  told  him  with  posi- 

104 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    105 

tive  and  curt  gesture,  that  what  he  was  to  do     / 
in  a  certain  important  matter  was  such  and    / 
such  a  thing,  and  that  she  knew  the  political 
situation  better  than  anybody.    From  that  con- 
ference   on,    senor    Limon    shared   with    his 
daughter  Fernanda  his  place  as  boss  of  the  en- 
tire province  of  Guadalfranco. 

The  late  and  unexpected  arrival  into  the 
world  of  Arias  vexed  Fernanda.  Their  mother  ^ 
dead,  how  was  it  possible  to  bear  patiently 
the  inconveniences  and  anxieties  which  the 
nurture  of  her  delicate  little  brother  would 
entail?  Fernanda  called  in  a  wetnurse  whom 
she  relegated,  along  with  Dominica  and  an 
aged  servant,  to  certain  back  rooms  next  the  I-""" 
garden  in  the  most  remote  part  of  the  house. 
This  was  in  order  that  the  small  fry  might  not 
rob  her  of  her  time,  or  disturb  her  in  her  po- 
litical duties  and  labors.  As  Enrique  Limon 
advanced  in  years  Fernanda  became  the  ver- 
itable boss.  She  saw  the  baby  from  time  to 
time,  at  most  once  a  day,  but  sometimes  a 
week  went  by  without  her  seeing  him,  not 
through  lack  of  affection,  but  because  she  was  ^^ 
always  exceedingly  busy.  The  child  was  at- 
tractive, smiling,  gentle,  and  lovable  in  his 
weakness.  Whenever  Fernanda,  as  was  sel- 


106     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

dom  the  case,  took  him  in  her  arms  and  kissed 
him,  she  felt  her  heart  melt  within  her.  It 
was  the  first  tenderness  she  had  experienced 
in  her  life.  Little  by  little  she  grew  fond  of 
him.  She  dedicated  to  him  a  love  which  was 
staunch  though  seldom  openly  manifested. 

Dominica  adored  her  baby  brother.  She 
was  unwilling  to  be  separated  from  him  for  a 
moment.  Before  she  would  go  to  sleep,  she 
must  have  him  in  bed  beside  her,  his  little  hand 
in  hers.  It  was  her  delight  to  take  him  in. 
her  arms,  an  extremely  difficult  undertaking, 
considering  her  own  tender  years  and  feeble 
strength.  Arias  for  his  part  evidenced  deep 
affection  for  Dominica. 

Another  of  Dominica's  lovers  was  Delffn, 
a  woolly  black  and  white  terrier.  And  such  a 
crafty  dog  was  Delfin.  When  he  stood  up  on 
his  hind  legs  he  looked  like  a  jovial,  bearded 
elf. 

After  Arias  was  two  years  old — it  had  been 
impossible  to  wean  him  until  then — his  nurse 
stayed  on  as  dry  nurse,  and  brought  to  the  old 
mansion  to  live  with  them  her  own  son, 
Arias's  foster  brother.  He  was  named  Ber- 
mudo,  and  had  been  reared  in  the  country.  He 
was  as  aboundingly  healthy,  uncouth  and  rosy, 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON    107 

as  Arias  was  feeble  and  delicate.  Bermudo 
was  obedient  and  companionable;  his  was  the 
mute  and  loyal  attachment  which  character- 
izes some  kinds  of  domestic  animals.  He  fol- 
lowed Arias  everywhere,  and  would  lie  at  his 
feet  like  Delfin.  Arias  possessed,  doubtless, 
some  peculiar  charm  of  person.  Those  who 
surrounded  him  rendered  him  homage.  He 
was  like  a  mysterious  center  which  attracts 
adoration. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  back  part  of  the  pal- 
ace spent  the  entire  day  in  the  garden.  This 
life  of  freedom  in  the  sunshine  and  fresh  air 
seemed  to  agree  with  Arias.  With  time  he 
grew  stronger. 

And  so  several  years  passed.  Things  re- 
mained unchanged.  Arias  was  the  prince, 
handsome,  and  benign.  Dominica  was  the 
queen  mother,  mother  as  well  as  child  by  a 
gracious  miracle.  Bermudo  was  like  the 
prince's  mastiff.  Besides,  there  was  a  gnome, 
woolly  and  smiling.  Then  there  was  the  old 
nurse,  and  lastly  a  kindly  and  bountiful  fairy 
who  wore  the  deceptive  aspect  of  an  aged  ser- 
vant. And  beyond  that  peaceful  world,  was 
the  world  of  quarrels,  of  negotiations,  pre- 


108     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

sided  over  by  the  austere  Fernanda,  and  the 
old  father  who  very,  very  seldom  passed  by 
Guadalfranco,  to  visit  his  estates  and  give  a 
kiss  to  his  children. 


Every  wave  must  storm 
The  wall  of  the  Infinite. 
Into   the  infinite   sea 
Flow  all  rivers  forever, 
Forever  flow  and  are  lost. 
Disasters,  mighty  deeds 
Go  by  and  are  forgotten. 
In  the  boat  of  your  hopes 
Steadily  swept  downstream, 
Though  you  must  find  at  last 
The  abyss  of  the  Infinite, 
Please  God  it  be  living  water, 
Not  such  as  the  mill-dam  holdtl 


RIAS  was  languid,  indolent, 
and  given  to  dreaming  pleasant 
dreams,  and  prodigious  adven- 
tures. He  had  learned  to  read 
and  write  very  early.  He  never 
wearied  of  reading.  What  he  read,  and  the 
fancies  that  he  wove,  he  would  relate  to  his 
sister  Dominica,  and  to  Bermudo.  In  the  late 
afternoons  when  the  shadows  were  falling,  the 
three  used  to  sit  down  on  the  grass  beneath  a 
tree.  Arias  recounted  his  imaginary  adven- 
tures in  words  so  passionate  and  so  persuasive 
that  at  times  Dominica  would  interrupt,  mur- 
muring in  a  husky  voice : 

"How  beautiful  is  all  this  that  you  are  say- 
ing, Arias!  And  how  true!  It  seems  as  if 
I  were  seeing  it  with  my  own  eyes." 

Bermudo  said  nothing.  He  listened  with 
compressed  lips.  He  failed  to  understand, 
but  he  felt  in  his  heart  an  uneasiness  by  way 
of  enthusiasm,  and  wild  desires  to  howl  and 
to  press  Arias  in  his  arms,  with  infinite  love. 

no 


TEE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    111 

At  that  time  Arias  and  Bermudo  were  ten 
years  old. 

Later  Arias  began  to  write  verses.  When 
he  read  them,  at  the  foot  of  the  peach  tree, 
he  would  weep,  and  Dominica  and  Bermudo 
would  weep  too. 

On  one  occasion,  a  history  of  the  Conquest 
of  Spain  fell  into  the  hands  of  Arias.  His 
soul  inflamed  with  noble  recklessness,  he  de- 
clared to  his  sister  and  friend  that  he  was  de- 
termined to  run  away  from  home  to  conquer 
countries  for  his  sister  Fernanda  and  the  king 
of  Spain  to  govern.  He  wanted  to  cast  into 
the  shade  the  glories  of  his  forebears.  Dom- 
inica was  frightened.  She  tried  to  dissuade 
Arias  from  so  perilous  an  undertaking.  It 
only  irritated  him  that  the  others  should  not 
fall  in  with  his  plans. 

"I  don't  ask  your  advice,  your  permission 
even  less,  and  still  less  that  you  should  ac- 
company me,"  he  said  wrathfully.  After- 
wards, sorry  to  have  treated  his  sister  harshly, 
he  caressed  and  petted  her,  picturing  to  her 
in  words  full  of  vivacity  and  fascination  the 
epic  of  the  future  of  which  they  were  to  be  the 
champions  and  distinguished  heroes.  And 
Dominica,  grown  tender,  abandoned  herself 


112    THE  FALL  OF  TEE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

deliciously  to  the  extravagances  and  vagaries 
of  Arias. 

"I  shall  be  like  the  Dona  Marina  of  Her- 
nando  Cortes,"  she  sighed.  "We  shall  sail 
over  the  seas  of  silver  in  which  they  say  there 
are  large  golden  fish.  We'll  cross  the  line  of 
the  equator  where  are  found  those  marine 
birds  which  sleep  as  they  fly,  for  they  never 
alight,  and  which,  their  wings  outspread,  are 
so  large  that  they  measure  three  metres  from 
tip  to  tip." 

Bermudo,  who  although  he  possessed  like 
anyone  else  the  gift  of  the  spoken  word, 
seemed  to  have  abandoned  the  use  of  it,  broke 
forth  into  speech  for  the  first  time  in  the  as- 
semblies of  the  garden: 

"That's  it.  That's  it.  And  what  am  I  go- 
ing to  do?  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  in 
Guadalfranco?"  he  bellowed  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  gummy  and  thick. 

"You  are  to  come  with  us,"  replied  Arias, 
placing  his  hand  with  dreamy  abandon  on  the 
back  of  Beramdo's  curly  head,  as  if  consecrat- 
ing him.  "You  will  be  my  standard-bearer 
and  official  trumpeter." 

Bermudo  leaped  to  his  feet.     He  began  to 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    113 

caper  about  giving  forth  smothered  grunts  of 
excitement. 

"But  where  are  you,  you  good-for-nothings  ? 
Arias!  Dominica!  Bermudol"  called  the 
nurse  from  a  window  which  she  threw  open. 
"It  is  suppertime."  .  .  . 

That  very  night,  the  girl  and  the  two  little 
boys  ran  away  to  conquer  new  lands  for  the 
king,  and  for  the  austere  Fernanda.    It  was     A 
a  moonlight  night.    They  descended  the  cliff.  ' 
They  unfastened  a  boat,  and  as  they  did  not 
know  how  to  steer  it,  the  current  carried  them 
downstream  several  leagues  until  the  boat  ran 
aground  in  the  dead  water  above  a  milldam.      j 
There  they  were  found  the  following  day. 

This  was  the  first  and  last  adventure  in  ac- 
tion. The  rest  were  adventures  of  imagina- 
tion in  the  crepuscular  shadows  of  the  gar- 
den. And  more  than  anything  else,  there 
were  recitals  of  Arias's  verses. 


WJ        Once  upon  a  time  .   .   . 
Once  upon  a  time 
There  was  a  pretty  child; 
People  talked  tenderness  to  her, 
Petted  her  for  their  pleasure. 
The  little  girl  had  a  doll, 
The  doll  was  pretty  too, 
With  the  charming  name  CORDELIA. 
Once,  once  upon  a  time  .    .   . 

The  doll,  I  admit,  was  dumb, 

Not  a  word  she  said  to  her  playmate. 

"Why  don't  you  talk  like  people, 

Say  loving  words  to  me?" 

Not  a  word  would  the  doll  utter. 

The  little  girl  grew  angry; 

Down  went  the  doll  on  the  floor  .  .  . 

She  breaks  it,  stamps  upon  it. 

And  then,  a  miracle! 

The  doll  with  her  last  breath 
Spoke:  "But  I  loved  you  too, 
And  more  than  any  loved  you! 
Only  I  could  not  say  so." 
Once,  once  upon  a  time  .   .   . 


VI 

NCE  only  in  their  lives  did 
Arias  and  Dominica  have  a  se- 
rious quarrel.  The  cause  was 
D  elf  in,  the  bearded  dog,  who 
was  as  mischievous  as  an  elf  or 


a  goblin.  D  elf  in  was  now  old,  infirm,  and 
afflicted  with  rheumatism,  but,  far  from  becom- 
ing puffed  up  and  embittered  with  age,  the  wily 
impostor  performed  new  tricks,  and  invented 
unheard  of  schemes  by  which  to  gain 
Dominica's  caresses  and  affection.  The  two 
boys,  Arias  and  Bermudo,  did  not  hide 
their  hostile  feelings  towards  the  festive 
and  rheumatic  gnome.  He  was  simply  re- 
pulsive to  Bermudo.  The  latter  beheld  in 
him  a  stuck-up  creature,  insolent,  wheedling, 
base  and  treacherous.  The  feelings  of  Arias 
were  more  complicated.  First,  he  was  jealous  r/ 
of  Delfin,  because  of  the  love  Dominica  dedi- 
cated to  him.  Then  he  began  to  experience 
a  sort  of  superstitious  terror,  as  Delfin  ad- 

115 


116     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

vanced  in  years  and  his  beard  grew  whiter  and 
whiter.  There  is  only  one  sort  of  old  age 
which  is  not  venerable;  that  of  a  sorcerer. 
The  older  sorcerers  are,  the  more  repulsive 
they  become.  Arias  knew  this.  It  seemed 
to  the  child  that  the  bearded  dog  was  animated 
by  a  knowing,  perverse  spirit;  that  he  was  a 
sorcerer  cunningly  masked  in  the  inoffensive 
exterior  of  a  terrier.  The  eyes  of  Delfin, 
green,  piercing  and  sarcastic,  made  Arias  trem- 
ble. Fear  finally  turned  into  hatred. 

Delfin  who  was  exceedingly  shrewd,  kept 
with  meticulous  caution  to  his  tactics  of  be- 
ing forever  attached  to  Dominica's  skirts.  He 
had  learned  by  experience  that  whenever  he 
wandered  away  from  that  kindly  fortress  and 
tutelary  refuge,  if  he  chanced  to  meet  Arias, 
he  would  receive  from  him  the  most  brazen 
kick.  And  so,  Delfin  had  selected  for  his 
tricks  and  pranks  the  times  when  Arias  was 
asleep,  or  when  he  was  so  engrossed  in  con- 
versation with  Dominica  and  Bermudo  that  he 
paid  no  attention  to  anything  else:  the 
bearded,  rascally  dog  had  attentively  observed 
this  phenomenon. 

By  the  way  Arias  and  Delfin  looked  at  each 
other,  Dominica  came  to  find  out  that  they  did 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    117 

not  get  along  well  together.  One  day  the  old 
goblin  fell  into  Dominica's  lap  after  a  rapid 
and  parabolic  aerial  excursion.  As  it  is  not 
a  privilege  natural  to  the  canine  species  to 
fly  Dominica  could  not  but  be  amazed  at 
seeing  Delfin  come  to  her  by  ways  so  rare  and 
unaccustomed.  On  the  other  hand,  Delfin  was 
not  celebrating  with  saucy  barks  his  momen- 
tary triumph  over  the  laws  of  gravitation, 
rather  did  he  come  complaining,  and  grieving 
sadly,  and  with  his  tail  between  his  legs.  Del- 
fin  had  not  flown  by  his  own  strength,  or  de- 
sire. The  motive  force  had  been  other  than 
his  own  scheming,  or  his  own  will.  It  resided 
in  Arias's  foot.  The  moment  the  dog  fell  into 
her  lap,  Dominica  turned  her  gaze  in  the  di- 
rection towards  which  the  moist  and  sorrowful 
eyes  of  Delfin  were  looking  sideways.  She 
saw  behind  some  lilac  bushes  the  face  of  Arias 
smiling  with  malicious  joy. 

"Arias!  Arias!  aren't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself  to  abuse  in  such  a  cowardly  way  a 
poor,  defenseless  animal?" 

Dominica  spoke,  caressing  the  ill-treated 
gnome,  and  getting  up  on  her  feet.  The  love 
and  high  opinion  she  had  of  Arias  had  re- 
ceived a  hurt. 


118     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

Arias  grew  pale.  He  broke  through  the 
bushes  and  came  forward. 

"He's  a  creature  who  hates  me,  and  I  hate 
him.  I'll  end  it  all  by  killing  him." 

"What  are  you  saying,  Arias?  You'll  do 
no  such  thing." 

"Yes  I  will,  and  this  very  minute." 

Arias,  exasperated  and  furious,  picked  up 
Delfin  by  the  nape  of  his  neck,  and  dashed 
him  with  all  his  strength  against  the  wall. 
The  dog  struck  the  wall  with  his  head,  and 
fell  back  flat  on  the  ground,  crushed  and  ap- 
parently dying.  From  the  spot  in  which  he 
lay  motionless,  he  gazed  at  Arias  with  re- 
signed, loving,  beseeching  eyes  as  if  he  were 
saying:  "I  don't  mind  dying,  I'm  so  old  now. 
.  .  .  I  am  no  good  any  more.  But  why  did  you 
take  offense  at  me?  Why  have  you  always 
maltreated  me?  Why  have  you  disliked  me 
so?  I've  always  loved  you,  Arias,  brother  of 
Dominica.  I  still  remember  when  you  were 
as  little  as  I,  so  that  you  could  not  walk  .  .  . 
and  I  used  to  make  you  laugh,  and  you  would 
play  with  me." 

Dominica  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
cried  out: 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    119 

"Go  away,  Arias,  I  don't  want  to  see  you! 
Go  away,  Arias,  I  don't  want  to  see  you !" 

Arias  paid  no  heed  to  Dominica.  Sorry 
for  his  outburst,  he  ran  and  knelt  down  by 
Delfin  weeping: 

"Forgive  me,  Delfin,  forgive  me  for  all  I 
have  made  you  suffer!  The  hand  with  which 
I  flung  you,  I  would  cut  off  that  you  might 
live!  .  .  ." 

His  love  was  so  sincere,  that  Delfin,  gather- 
ing all  his  strength,  wagged  his  tail  and  his 
ears,  signifying  gratitude  and  the  bestowal  of 
pardon.  If  Delfin  could  forgive,  how  was 
Dominica  to  withhold  her  forgiveness?  The 
brother  and  sister  embraced  each  other  with 
tears,  and  bent  over  to  take  into  their  arms 
the  shattered  and  exhausted  dog,  who  in  those 
terrible  circumstances  seemed  to  Arias  no 
longer  a  sorcerer  but  a  holy  apostle  and 
martyr. 

Delfin  did  not  die.  But  he  remained  quite 
broken  and  crippled.  During  the  last  months 
of  his  life,  he  was  almost  more  the  friend  of 
Arias  than  of  Dominica. 


WII        Power!    Power! 

Oh  wine  of  divine  intoxication! 

Highest  good! 

Poison  of  forgetfulness, 

From  heads  you  anoint, 

Wings  are  unfolded. 

Presumptuous  power,  monster  towering  to  heaven 

To  grasp  a  sheaf  of  stars! 

Yet  your  feet  are  of  clay. 

Mad  Sovereignty!     To  attain  you 

To  enjoy  you  even  a  moment, 

Men  will  sell  the  very  woman 

Who  bore  them; 

Or  pledge  their  souls  to  Satan! 

Good  men  and  evil,  all 

Kneel  beside  your  stirrup  .   .   . 

The  stirrup  of  your  palfrey. 

Power  to  injure  a  foe  .    .    . 

Power  to  aid  a  friend  .   .   . 


VII 

RIAS,  thanks  to  the  influence 
and  recommendations  of  his 
father,  had  gone  through  the 
high-school  and  through  college 
(free  of  charge)  and  without 
having  saluted  a  single  text-book,  or  learned 
one  single  useful  thing.  He  persisted  in  his 
poetic  endeavors.  His  ambition  was  to  live  in 
Madrid  and  publish  verses  in  the  newspapers. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  day  he  was  indoors, 
buried  in  a  sofa,  reading  poetry  and  novels, 
perhaps  brooding  over  impossible  aspirations, 
and  possibly  scribbling.  Bermudo,  great, 
burly,  inarticulate  fellow,  lay  on  the  floor  next 
the  sofa  done  up  in  a  ball.  Dominica  sat  by 
the  window  embroidering.  The  worship  of 
Dominica  and  Bermudo  for  Arias  had  dimin- 
ished not  a  whit.  They  would  have  given  their 
lives  for  him.  Arias  had  no  friends.  Whenever 
he  went  out  he  walked  at  a  smart  pace  through 
the  streets  of  the  city  until  he  reached  the 
country.  Bermudo  followed  in  his  wake  like 

121 


122    THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

a  dog.  Only  at  night  was  it  his  pleasure  to 
wander  about  the  town.  The  windows  of  the 
lower  floors  were  open,  the  houses  were  alight. 
One  could  look  into  the  depths  of  the  interiors, 
and  behold  scenes  of  family  life.  The  mur- 
mur of  quiet  chatter  could  be  heard,  of  laugh- 
ter, shouts  of  discord,  the  wailing  of  a  child, 
piano,  a  guitar,  a  song.  Instead  of  a  city 
^  of  stone  and  clay,  a  city  of  living  flesh  could 
be  felt,  with  bosom  open  and  heart  revealed. 
And  all  that  multiform  and  hidden  life  de- 
•'  pended  in  some  fashion  upon  the  will  of  his 
<l\  father  and  of  his  sister  Fernanda.  In  them 
_^xresided  the  dispensation  of  good  or  ill.  And 
a  day  would  come,  not  far  distant  now,  on 
which  he,  Arias,  would  inherit  his  father's 
jurisdiction  and  his  sovereign  authority  over 
the  city  of  flesh  and  blood.  The  night  watch- 
man, as  he  passed,  greeted  him  in  servile  fash- 
ion: 

"Good  evening,  don  Arias!" 

But  don  Arias,  lost  in  the  mist  of  his  va- 
garies and  fantasies,  was  unaware  that  the 
paternal  authority  was  crumbling  and  falling 
to  decay.  The  city  and  province  abhorred 
the  oppression  of  their  boss.  Subterranean 
forces  of  sedition  were  rumbling,  and  ready 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    123 

to  break  forth.  A  clandestinely  published 
sheet  called  The  She-Boss  was  in  circulation, 
and  in  it  were  coarse  insults  directed  against 
Fernanda.  There  were  innumerable  omens 
which  foretold  the  fall  of  the  Limones.  Arias 
neither  knew  nor  suspected  any  of  this.  Ber- 
mudo,  his  companion  in  everything,  was  also 
blind.  Dominica  caught  glimpses  of  vague 
forewarnings.  But  don  Enrique  and  Fer- 
nanda fully  realized  to  its  most  hidden  rami- 
fications the  extent  of  the  evil,  the  speed  with 
which  it  was  spreading,  and  the  calamities  it 
would  bring  in  its  train.  They  were  righting 
desperately,  trying  to  anticipate  every  turn 
of  adverse  fortune.  Since  in  Guadalfranco 
the  earth  was  slipping  from  beneath  their 
feet,  they  clutched  with  redoubled  eagerness 
at  every  bit  of  support  in  Madrid,  and  in  or- 
der to  subdue  those  within  their  power,  car- 
ried to  an  extreme  every  manifestation  of  au-  ^/^ 
thority  over  them.  But  even  their  Madrid 
supporters  might  fail  them  at  any  moment. 
Don  Enrique  was  now  very  old,  and  Fer- 
nanda was  a  defenseless  woman.  When  least 
they  expected  it,  however,  they  received  a 
reenforcement.  Prosperp^Merkb  a  young  law- 
yer of  arrogant  aims,  with  a  keen  intelligence 


124    THE  FALL  OF  TEE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

and  smooth  of  speech,  began  to  visit  assid- 
uously the  house  of  the  Limones.  He  affil- 
iated himself  at  once  with  the  party,  because 
~>  it  was  to  his  advantage  to  do  so,  and  became 
the  most  eloquent  and  fervent  spokesman  of 
his  boss  within  the  city  and  district.  He  tried 
to  prove  to  anyone  willing  to  listen  to  him 
how  paternal,  beneficent  and  profitable  is  the 
rule  of  a  political  boss. 

One  night,  don  Enrique  gathered  his  chil- 
dren about  him  and  spoke  to  them  as  follows : 

"I  am  grown  very  old,  my  children,  my  life 
is  now  drawing  to  its  close.  Soon  I  shall 
leave  you.  Your  future  inspires  me  with  no 
little  dread.  The  property  you  will  inherit 
from  me  is  very  meagre.  Fernanda  knows 
all  about  it.  Fernanda  always  knows  all 
about  everything.  She  is  a  pearl,  a  veritable 
pearl.  I  wish  you,  Dominica  and  Arias,  to  re- 
spect her  authority  not  so  much  on  account 
of  her  years  as  because  of  her  merits.  I  was 
much  wealthier  than  I  am,  not  because  I  have 
squandered  my  patrimony,  which  was  yours 
also,  but  because  I  employed  it  to  procure  for 
you  something  which  is  worth  more  than  gold : 
power.  And  it  is  worth  more  than  riches,  be- 
cause riches  alone  are  not  always  sufficient  to 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    125 

bring  power,  while  power  can  attract  riches 
when  it  desires  to  do  so,  and  goes  after  them. 
If  to  acquire  power  and  authority  I  lost  my 
fortune,  and  when  I  had  them,  I  failed  to 
win  it  back,  it  was  because  first  I  must  needs 
make  my  authority  secure.  I  leave  it  to  you, 
and  particularly  to  Fernanda,  to  use  this  au- 
thority for  your  own  benefit.  If  you  stand 
together,  nobody,  however  much  he  may  strug- 
gle and  fight  you,  can  put  you  down.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  you  abandon  one  another, 
the  Limones  will  cease  to  be  what  they  have 
always  been  in  Guadalfranco,  your  enemies 
will  fatten  on  your  fall,  you  will  lose  every- 
thing you  have,  and  beg  your  bread  from  door 
to  door.  You,  Arias,  have  a  vivid  imagina- 
tion; you  are  dazzled  and  made  dizzy  from 
afar  by  artistic  glory  and  the  applause  of 
printed  sheets.  But  I,  with  my  many  years 
and  long  experience,  tell  you  that  all  that 
avails  not  to  put  bread  in  your  mouth,  and 
that  it  is  all  pure  delusion  and  humbug.  For 
your  own  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  your  sis- 
ters, listen  to  me.  The  day  I  die,  what  will 
Fernanda  be  able  to  do  without  a  man  of  her 
own  temper  beside  her,  who  will  stand  for 
the  party,  do  the  coming  and  going,  assume 


126     TEE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  L1MON 

its  visible  leadership?  I  wish  you  to  be  as 
much  the  heir  of  my  control  and  influence  as 
of  my  name,  and  I  pray  God  you  will  rise 
higher  than  I  on  the  foundations  I  have  laid 
for  you.  Thrive,  my  son,  in  the  region  of 
higher  politics.  Then  you  will  see  how  the 
newspapers  will  publish  anything  you  write, 
although  it  be  but  so  much  foolishness,  and 
will  call  you  a  portent,  and  you  will  even  be- 
come a  member  of  the  academy,  if  you  are 
pleased  with  anything  so  insignificant.  I  will 
not  conceal  from  you  that  the  friendship  of 
Prospero  Merlo  seems  to  me  valuable,  and 
that  I  desire  him  to  become  a  member  of  the 
family."  —  Here  Dominica's  eyes  dropped. 
Arias  turned  to  look  at  her  with  a  mixture  of 
astonishment  and  vexation — "You  lower  your 
eyes  Dominica,  good  and  gentle  Dominica? 
What  can  remain  hidden  from  a  father,  and 
especially,  a  father  who  is  a  man  alert  from 
dealing  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men? 
Although  I  must  declare  here  and  now,  that 
before  I  was  aware  of  anything,  Merlo  him- 
self gave  me  some  indications,  indirect  but 
sufficiently  explicit." 

"But  you  see,  Father,  he  has  not  told  me 
yet  .  .  ."  stammered  Dominica. 


TEE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    127 

"But  he  must  have  looked  at  you  in  a  cer- 
tain way." 

Dominica  grew  crimson. 

"M erlo  seems  to  me  a  man  of  high  aims  and 
persuasive  speech,  which  is  worth  as  much  as 
to  have  the  future  clutched  by  the  hair.  More- 
over, he  is  really  a  handsome  fellow.  Unmis- 
takable are  the  tokens  of  his  affection.  What 
more  can  you  desire  for  a  husband?  Con- 
sider, gentle  and  innocent  Dominica,  that  the 
years  are  vanishing,  that  you  are  not  a  child, 
and  that  others,  at  your  age,  have  already 
given  up  the  hope  of  marrying.  I  consider 
it  settled  that  you  are  to  marry,  and  that  it 
shall  be  within  my  lifetime.  In  this  fashion, 
the  four  of  you  united  in  one  single  will  and 
strong  purpose  will  be  looked  up  to  and 
feared,  prosperity  will  enter  your  doors,  and 
you  will  perpetuate  in  Guadalfranco  the  mild 
and  beneficent  yoke  of  the  Limones." 

A  dumb  emotion  reigned  throughout  the 
room.  Bermudo  on  the  outside,  seated  on  the 
floor  and  leaning  against  the  door,  wiped  away 
a  few  tears.  Oh,  if  don  Enrique  and  Fer- 
nanda, so  decorous  and  serious,  evidencing  so 
many  civic  and  domestic  virtues,  could  have 
been  seen  on  this  occasion  by  those  who  in  the 


128     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

clandestine  newspaper  called  them  "Vampires 
of  the  town,"  "Old  Stallion,"  "She-Boss," 
"Madam  Procuress"  and  even  more  compli- 
ments! .... 

When  Dominica  and  Arias  remained  alone, 
the  latter  planted  himself  before  his  sister  and 
addressed  her  in  an  uncertain  voice,  his  eyes 
flaming: 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  this?  Hypo- 
crite!" 

"I  swear  to  you,  Arias,"  replied  Dominica, 
grieved  and  submissive,  clasping  her  hands  as 
if  in  prayer,  "I  swear  to  you  that  I  did  not 
know  anything.  He  looks  at  me,  yes,  he  looks 
at  me,  as  no  one  has  ever  before  looked  at  me, 
and  when  he  does  so,  I  do  not  know  what  to  do ; 
I  am  all  upset.  I  could  not  suppose  he  loved 
me.  As  I  value  my  soul's  salvation,  I  tell 
you  that  he  has  never  told  me,  or  given  me  to 
understand  that  he  loved  me.  What  was  I 
to  tell  you?  That  he  gazed  at  me?  That  he 
was  in  love  with  me?  You  would  have  called 
me,  and  rightly,  silly,  presumptuous,  ridic- 
ulous. I  am  twenty-eight  years  old.  I  have 
never  thought  about  men,  or  expected  to 
marry.  Now  that  Father.  .  .  Well,  you 
heard  him,  as  well  as  I.  But  if  you  do  not 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    129 

wish  it,  if  you  don't  like  Prospero,  I  won't 
marry;  I  won't  marry,  Arias." 

"Of  course  I  don't  like  him!  As  I  can  see 
a  thing  or  two !  He's  a  simpleton,  a  meddler, 
a  rascal ;  all  he  wants  is  to  climb.  But  do  you 
suppose  he  cares  for  you  a  snap  of  his  fin- 
gers?" said  Arias  gesticulating  furiously. 

"Don't  be  angry,  Arias,  don't  be  angry  with 
me.  You  are  right,"  added  Dominica  sadly. 
"I  was  dazzled.  Of  course  he  can't  love  me! 
I  am  not  young,  and  I  am  not  pretty." 

"It  isn't  that,  Dominica.  You  are  lovely, 
and  quite  young  enough  to  marry.  The  mat- 
ter is  that  Merlo  is  a  rascal,  a  rascal,  a  rascal!" 

And  Arias  went  out  on  the  street,  followed 
by  the  silent  and  loyal  Bermudo.  He  came 
back  when  it  was  already  very  late.  On  pass- 
ing Dominica's  room,  he  saw  a  light  from  be- 
neath the  door.  After  his  accesses  of  fury, 
it  was  inevitable  that  Arias's  mood  should 
change  into  one  of  childlike  renunciation  and 
tenderness.  He  tapped  at  Dominica's  door. 

"What  do  you  want,  Arias?"  asked  Dom- 
inica. Her  eyes  were  red. 

"Dominica,  I  hurt  you  a  while  ago.  I  did 
not  know  what  I  was  saying.  I  only  want  you 
to  be  happy.  The  suddenness  of  the  news, 


130     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

the  fear  of  losing  you,  grief  at  being  separated 
from  you,  drove  me  wild." 

"Fear  of  losing  me.  .  .  Grief  at  being 
separated.  .  .  Even  if  I  married,  you  would 
not  lose  me,  nor  would  we  be  separated.  But 
I  shall  not  marry." 

"You  shall  marry.  If  I  told  you  that  Merlo 
is  a  rascal,  now  I  take  it  back.  It  was  not 
I  that  was  speaking:  an  evil  spirit  was  speak- 
ing  within  me,  a  spirit  which  possesses  me  at 
times,  drives  me  on,  and  dictates  words  which 
are  not  within  my  heart.  Now  Z  am  the  one 
who  is  talking,  and  talking  in  my  right  mind." 

"I  shall  not  marry,  Arias.  I  don't  believe 
that  Merlo  is  a  rascal.  But  I  consider  it  an 
impossibility  that  he  should  love  me.  I  am 
old,  and  not  at  all  goodlooking." 

"Who  that  sees  you  and  talks  to  you  can 
help  loving  you  madly,"  exclaimed  Arias,  tak- 
ing Dominica's  face  in  his  hands  and  drawing 
it  down  to  kiss  her  brow. 

Dominica  smiled. 

"That  is  a  brother's  love.  No  one  will  care 
for  me  as  I  have  dreamed." 

"He  will  care  for  you,  Dominica.  Surely 
he  loves  you  already,  as  much  as  you  long  for. 
Surely  you  will  be  happy  together." 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    131 

And  then  after  a  pause: 

"And  you,  do  you  love  him?" 

"I  ...  don't  yet.  .  ."  stammered  Domi- 
nica, with  tremulous  lips. 

Arias  laughed,  a  soft  caressing  laugh  that 
welled  up  from  the  very  depths  of  his  heart. 

"Well,  well.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  is  go- 
Ing  well." 

He  put  his  arms  around  her,  and  once  more 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"Good  night,  Dominica." 

"Good  night,  Arias." 


VIII         Love,  Love!    Immortal  torch 

Which  a  rushing  wind  blows  to  shreds! 
Without  that  insensate  light  of  yours 
All  that  fills  life's  stage 
Would  pass  unseen. 
Love,  ancient  as  life, 
Young  as  life,  Oh  Lovtl 

To-night  tTiere  is  high  revelry 
In  the  castle  of  Elsinore. 
Th«  throned  King  and  Quetn 
Sit  watching  the  players. 
About  them  gather  a  throng 
Of  fawning  courtiers, 
And  there  is  Ophelia,  the  loving, 
The  ingenuous,  pure. 

Ther«  is  gloomy  Hamlrt 
Madness  in  his  look. 
He  seizes  the  torch 
Where  it  is  flaring, 
Whirls  it  wildly  about 
Like  a  sling  with  a  stone. 

Love;  gentle  or  mad? 
R«d  torch  .   .   .  mild  light  .   .  . 
Life  you  reveal  .   .   .  held  high 
In  a  madman's  hands. 


VIII 


VERY  afternoon,  about  six, 
Prospero  Merlo  comes  to  the 
great  house  of  the  Ucedas,  and 
remains  until  suppertime  in  lov- 
ing conversation  with  Domin- 
ica. The  wedding  has  been  set  for  the 
autumn,  for  the  beginning  of  October. 
It  is  now  July.  In  the  province  of  Guadal- 
franco  it  is  suffocatingly  hot.  But  the 
room  in  which  Prospero  and  Dominica  hold 
converse  is  fresh,  humid  and  shadowy.  The 
walls  are  whitewashed;  supporting  the  ceiling 
are  beams  of  blackened  timber  laid  in  parallel 
lines ;  the  spaces  between  the  beams  are  arched. 
The  dimensions  of  the  room  are  spacious,  aris- 
tocratic, like  an  ancient  hall  or  reception 
room.  The  furniture  is  simple,  and  sparsely 
distributed.  The  floor  is  of  red  bricks, 
sprinkled,  and  here  and  there  is  a  round  of 
matting.  Two  enormous  windows,  with  grat- 
ings, extend  from  the  floor  upwards,  and  give 
proof  of  the  thickness  of  the  outside  walls. 

133 


134     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

There  are  pots  of  flowers  in  bloom  at  the  foot 
of  the  windows.  Beyond  the  grated  windows 
is  a  street,  narrow  and  deserted,  and  facing 
them,  a  wall  painted  yellow.  An  odor  of 
moist  earth  and  of  rosemallows  pervades  the 
room.  The  bells  of  the  cathedral  are  heard 
and  the  twittering  of  sparrows. 

Prospero  and  Dominica,  seated  in  rocking 
chairs,  take  shelter  in  a  dusky  corner.  The 
old  nurse  of  Arias,  and  mother  of  Bermudo, 
gives  countenance  to  the  courtship  by  her  pres- 
ence. Not  infrequently,  don  Enrique  and  Fer- 
nanda are  in  the  room,  whispering  about  ex- 
ceedingly important  matters.  Very  rarely 
Arias  and  Bermudo  appear.  Where  are  Arias 
and  his  staunch  and  hermetic  attendant?  No- 
body knows.  Nobody  tries  to  find  out.  This 
is  the  prelude  to  a  rosy  and  joyous  era  in  the 
annals  of  the  Limones.  When  next  the  Cortes 
convene,  don  Enrique  is  counting  on  carrying 
as  representatives  his  son  Arias  and  his  pre- 
sumptive son-in-law.  With  the  hot  weather, 
the  throbbings  of  sedition  have  abated.  The 
clandestine  sheet  has  ceased  to  circulate.  Over 
Guadalfranco  hovers  an  Octavian  peace.  My 
lord  bishop,  placid  and  meditative,  the  canons 
of  the  cathedral  thoughtful  and  melodious; 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    135 

the  civil  governor  a  ponderous  nobleman;  the 
military  governor  a  doughty  chieftain;  the 
colonel  of  the  Civil  Guards  a  man  whose  hand 
is  heavy  and  whose  displeasure  is  relentless ;  in 
short,  all  the  props  of  society  are  the  work  of 
don  Enrique,  and  by  his  will  are  kept  in  pro- 
visional equilibrium  and  connection,  like  the 
scaffolding  the  architect  uses  to  erect  his  struc- 
ture. Don  Enrique  and  Fernanda  are  satis- 
fied. Prospero  Merlo  is  satisfied.  Like  pil- 
grims on  their  way  to  a  shrine,  litigants  stream 
into  his  office.  Every  case  he  pleads  is  auto- 
matically decided  in  his  favor.  He  will  be  a 
representative.  But  the  most  satisfied  of  all 
is  Dominica. 

Merlo  arrives  punctually  at  the  customary 
hour.  He  wears  a  twill  suit  of  light  tan,  and 
canvas  shoes.  He  comes  in  with  his  coat 
and  shirt  collar  thrown  back.  From  his  bare 
neck  stick  out  tufts  of  hair,  black,  flaring 
and  sinuous,  for  the  lawyer  is  a  man  of  hairy 
bosom.*  His  straw  hat  is  in  one  hand,  in 
the  other  a  palmleaf  fan,  like  a  blowing-fan, 
with  which  he  aerates  his  perspiring  counte- 
nance. He  is  short  rather  than  tall,  his  figure 

*  Hombre  de  pelo  en  pecho,  also  means  in  Spanish  a  valiant 
man. 


136     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  L1MON 

is  beginning  to  protrude  in  front,  his  complex- 
ion is  deep  brown,  his  mustachios  threaten 
both  God  and  man,  his  teeth  are  white  and 
even,  his  eyes  are  of  the  kind  that  fire  the 
feminine  heart.  Dominica's  heart  at  any  rate 
he  has  set  ablaze  with  an  unquenchable  fire 
which  tortures  and  delights,  which  annihilates 
and  does  not  consume.  When  Merlo  is  not 
in  the  house,  Dominica  never  rests;  she  goes 
and  comes  from  room  to  room  as  if  seeking 
something  she  has  forgotten;  she  goes  out  into 
the  garden,  she  chews  some  little  leaves  of 
peppermint;  she  comes  once  more  into  the 
house,  sits  down,  gets  up  immediately.  She 
laughs  as  readily  as  she  sighs.  She  loses  sleep. 
When  Merlo  is  present,  Dominica's  restless- 
ness redoubles.  She  would  like  to  look  at 
him  closely,  through  and  through,  but  she  dare 
not  lift  her  eyes  from  the  floor.  If  he  looks 
at  her,  she  would  like  to  withdraw  her  eyes 
from  his,  in  order  to  recover  her  breath  which 
is  failing  her,  but  she  cannot  gather  up 
strength  to  withdraw  them.  Prospero  talks 
unceasingly.  His  tongue  is  endowed  with  the 
gift  of  perpetual  motion.  His  is  a  silvery 
tongue  which  strikes  repeatedly,  like  fits  of 
a  recurrent  spring  dizziness.  For  Prospero 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    137 

and  Dominica  it  is  an  unchanging  Eastertide. 
And  what  things  Prospero  says  to  her !  Dom- 
inica listens  to  him  as  if  her  senses  were  not  her 
own.  Occasionally  he  takes  her  hand.  Dom- 
inica tries  to  withdraw  it  with  beseeching  eyes, 
as  if  she  were  in  a  death  swoon  and  afraid  of 
dying.  And  if  the  courtship  lasts  much  longer, 
Dominica  will  die.  She  is  growing  thin  and 
pale,  withering  and  drooping.  In  two  months 
she  has  aged  several  years. 

But  in  the  midst  of  this  glorious,  dolorous 
transubstantiation  of  Dominica's  soul,  there 
remains  a  nucleus  of  incorruptible  gold,  the 
worship  of  all  her  life,  the  essence  of  her  child- 
hood: her  love  for  Arias.  In  the  uneasy  hours 
of  a  sleepless  night,  Dominica  thinks,  per- 
chance, "If  Arias  were  to  become  Prospero's 
enemy,  it  would  kill  me."  Fortunately  for 
Dominica,  Arias  cheerfully  encourages  her 
love  for  Merlo.  Arias  reciprocates  the  adora- 
tion Dominica  feels  for  him.  He  also  adores 
Dominica.  He  is  eager  only  for  her  felicity. 
Therefore,  in  Dominica's  presence  he  laughs, 
jokes,  proposes  to  her  conspiracies  for  the  fu- 
ture. But  when  he  is  alone  Arias  suffers  mor- 
tal anguish. 

To  witness  his  sister's  love  has  been  for 


138     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

Arias  also  an  awakening  of  body  and  soul  to 
love.  He  is  constantly  on  fire,  with  flesh  and 
spirit  tense,  tortured,  restless.  That  is  why  he 
hides.  At  first  his  has  been  an  immaterial, 
absolute,  disembodied  passion:  love  for 
woman.  He  wanders  alone  through  the 
streets.  He  thinks  himself  suddenly  in  love 
with  every  woman  he  encounters.  He  com- 
poses passionate  and  sensuous  verses,  as  often 
frenzied  as  pathetic.  At  last,  tHis  ungovern- 
able groping  love  has  centered  upon  one 
woman.  Arias  does  not  know  who  she  is.  He 
has  seen  her  three  times  behind  a  grating. 
And  now,  madly  in  love,  he  dares  pass  no 
more  that  way.  He  shuts  himself  up  in  a 
room.  He  paces  the  floor ;  tears  his  hair ;  talks 
to  himself.  He  cries  out  as  if  strangling. 
Bermudo,  on  the  outside,  stuck  to  the  door, 
listens,  doubles  up  his  fists,  turns  his  eyes 
threateningly.  What  can  poor  Bermudo  do 
to  relieve  Arias?  What  is  the  matter  with 
Arias?  Who  is  making  him  suffer?  Oh,  if 
Bermudo  could  only  get  into  his  great  paws 
the  culprit  who  is  so  tormenting  Arias!  But 
poor  Bermudo  fails  to  make  out  even  a  mode 
of  access  to  the  room  within  whose  shelter  the 
tragedy  is  taking  place.  Finally  he  decides 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON     139 

to  make  use  of  his  gift  of  speech,  of  which 
he  is  so  niggardly: 

"What's  the  matter,  Arias?  For  God's 
sake,  tell  me!  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

"Of  course  you  can't  do  anything  for  me." 

"Who  knows!  .  .  .  For  God's  sake,  tell 
me!" 

"I  am  in  love,  Bermudo." 

"With  whom?" 

"With  whom,  of  course?    With  a  woman." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"I  don't  know  her  name." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  her  you  love  her?  She 
must  be  in  love  with  you,  too.  It's  out  of  the 
question  that  she  shouldn't  be!" 

"I  don't  dare,  Bermudo;  I  don't  dare," 
murmurs  Arias,  digging  his  fingers  into  his 
cheeks. 

"Tell  me  where  she  lives  and  I'll  steal  her, 
and  bring  her  here.  I  swear  it,  upon  my  life!" 

"Hush,  you  simpleton.  What  do  you  know 
about  such  things?" 

"I  swear  to  you,  Arias,  I'll  bring  her  here 
whenever  you  like." 


IV         Venomous  night, 

Each  star  is  a  drop  of  poison, 
Each  star  is  the  scarlet  seed 
Of  a  dark  thought. 

Womb  in  which  every  crime  lies  hidden  .   .   . 
Rape  .   .   .  adultery  .   .   .  theft  .   .   .  mur- 
der .  .  . 

Cowardice  .  .  .  terror  .  .  . 
Night  hostile  to  the  lowly, 
Procuress  of  the  wicked! 
Source  of  all  evil! 
For  it  is  within  your  bosom 
Men  and  animals  come  together 
And  burning  with  blind  fury 
Perpetuate  earthly  life. 

The  monastery  bell  is  ringing  matins: 

The  monks  go  to  their  prayers. 

From  the  sins  of  the  night 

Deliver  us,  Oh  Lord  our  God! 

Let  the  cock  crow  for  dawn  I 

And  may  Satan  perish  in  depths  of  hell! 

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO/ 
A  new  day  dawns, 
But  some  there  are 
Who  cannot  behold  it. 


S  the  summer  advanced,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  afternoon  chat, 
Merlo  was  wont  to  come  at 
night  to  talk  with  Dominica  at 
her  grating.  One  afternoon 
during  the  last  of  August,  when,  by  a  rare  oc- 
currence, all  the  Limon  family  were  together 
in  the  drawing-room,  as  he  took  leave  Merlo 
said: 

"Tonight,  after  supper,  I  must  go  to  see 
the  widow  Candelero,  who  has  come  in  from 
the  country  with  her  daughter." 

"They've  returned?"   asked  don  Enrique. 
"When  did  they  get  back?"  said  Arias. 
"This  afternoon,  it  seems/'  replied  Merlo. 
"The  widow  wrote  me,  urging  upon  me  an  ap- 
pointment for  this  evening.    It  has  to  do  with 
the  lawsuit  she  is  having  with  her  brother. 
She  says  she  is  bringing  me  any  number  of 
facts  and  proofs.     Like  any  old  woman,  she 
is  fussy  and  impatient." 

141 


142     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

"But  she's  rich,  and  disposes  of  more  than 
a  hundred  votes,"  commented  Fernanda. 

"Just  so,  and  in  your  district,  Prospero," 
added  don  Enrique. 

"She  is  rich  and  penurious.  In  order  to 
save  expenses,  she  hasn't  even  a  servant.  She 
lives  alone  with  her  daughter." 

"Alone?"  asked  Arias. 

"Absolutely  alone  as  I  understand,"  re- 
sponded Prospero. 

"Thanks  to  the  exquisite  protection  of  the 
Limones,  two  women,  even  though  they  are 
rich,  may  live  alone  and  in  safety  in  Guadal- 
franco,"  asserted  don  Enrique. 

After  a  pause,  he  added: 

"It  seems  to  me  I  have  heard  that  the 
daughter  is  exceedingly  pretty." 

"To  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  I  haven't 
noticed  her,"  declared  Merlo  casting  a  pro- 
pitiatory look  at  Dominica. 

He  took  leave. 

The  following  day,  the  widow  Candelero 
and  her  daughter  were  discovered  in  their 
home,  murdered,  their  bodies  riddled  with 
wounds.  The  daughter  had  been  stabbed  twen- 
ty-seven times,  and  gave  unmistakable  evi- 
dence of  having  been  violated.  In  the  house 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    143 

were  found  the  palmleaf  fan,  a  cane  and  other 
objects  belonging  to  Merlo.  The  night  watch- 
man testified  that  he  had  seen  Merlo  leave 
the  house  about  midnight. 

Prospero  Merlo  was  immediately  arrested 
and  imprisoned.  A  political  motive  was  pub- 
licly ascribed  for  the  crime.  An  uprising 
took  place  in  the  city.  The  mob  went  fu- 
riously to  the  palace  of  the  Limones,  shouting  p* 
out: 

"Down  with  the  Limones!  Death  to  the 
Limones !"  It  was  necessary  to  protect  the  pal- 
ace with  a  company  of  civil  guards. 

Dominica  fell  ill.  She  would  allow  nobody 
beside  her  except  Arias.  She  wept  discon- 
solately. 

"But  do  you  think,  Arias,  that  it  is  pos- 
sible? Am  I  not  dreaming?  Is  it  not  a 
frightful  nightmare?  Awaken  me,  O  God, 
even  though  it  be  an  awakening  into  the 
shadow  of  death!"  moaned  Dominica  in  a 
scarcely  audible  voice. 

"I  am  sure  it  has  not  been  Prospero,"  re- 
plied Arias.  "I  don't  say  it  merely  to  give 
you  courage.  I  am  certain  it  has  not  been 
he.  There  must  be  some  terrible  mistake.  But 
never  fear.  Even  if  what  really  happened  is 


144    THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

r 

never  found  out,  and  I  think  it  won't  be  be- 
cause it  is  all  too  mysterious,  at  least  every- 
thing will  be  arranged  by  means  of  the  in- 
'fluence  we  have  in  Madrid." 

The  blow  struck  don  Enrique  also  to  the 
very  heart. 

"Everything  is  at  an  end  for  us,  Fernanda. 
I'm  done  for,  because  this  sorrow  will  cost  me 
my  life.  Our  supremacy  in  Guadalfranco  has 
come  to  an  end.  Everything  is  at  an  end.  My 
poor  children!  Strong  and  intelligent  Fer- 
nanda, gentle  Dominica,  Arias  weak  and  in- 
genuous." 

"No,  father,  no,"  responded  Fernanda 
firmly.  "After  all,  what  have  we  to  do  with 
that  wretched  Merlo.  Fortunately  he  was  not 
married  to  poor  Dominica.  This  misfortune 
is  Dominica's  alone,  and  ours  because  it  grieves 
us  to  the  soul.  But  political  catastrophe, 
why?" 

Merlo,  from  jail,  wrote  a  long  emphatic  let- 
ter to  don  Enrique,  in  which  he  protested  his 
innocence,  waited  for  God  to  unmask  the  ver- 
itable criminals,  and,  in  the  meantime,  humbly 
entreated  the  protection  of  don  Enrique,  in 
whose  all-powerful  hands  he  placed  his  cause. 
Don  Enrique  crumpled  the  note  with  fury, 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    145 

grinding  out  reproaches  against  the  astute  and 
murderous  Merlo.    Arias  came  out  in  his  de- 
fense so  passionately  and  skilfully  that  don     [/ 
Enrique  and  Fernanda  let  themselves  be  con- 
vinced.   Don  Enrique  said: 

"Granting  that  he  is  innocent,  what  can  we 
do?" 

"Move  heaven  and  earth,  use  all  the  in- 
fluence you  have  in  Madrid  to  cover  the  mat-     v 
ter  up,  and  set  Merlo  free." 

"That  is  impossible.  The  first  thing  is  to 
discover  the  murderer." 

"No;  the  first  thing  is  to  fix  up  things  in         / 
Madrid." 

"My  son,  that  is  an  undertaking  beyond  my 
strength,  which  is  failing  me.  I  charge  you 
with  it.  Go  to  the  capital,  employ  every 
means  suggested  to  you  by  your  youth  and  in- 
genuity. You  are  going  in  my  name,  and 
that  is  equal  to  my  going  myself." 

"I?  I  am  no  good  at  that  sort  of  thing, 
Father  ..."  replied  Arias,  uncertain  and 
crestfallen. 

"You  can  do  it,  if  you  make  up  your  mind 
to.  Some  time  you  must  make  a  beginning. 
There  are  very  few  days  of  life  remaining  to 


146     THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

,,  me.  On  you  depends  your  very  fate,  yours 
and  your  sisters.  Consider  this  well." 

Dominica  wrote  to  Merlo  that  she  did  not 
believe  him  to  be  guilty,  and  that  she  loved 
him  more  than  ever.  The  days  were  passing. 
The  court  was  examining  the  evidence.  Every 
proof  was  against  Merlo.  The  city  was  seeth- 
ing with  manifest  exasperation.  There  were 
frequent  disturbances.  It  was  said  behind 
their  backs  that  the  Limones  were  plotting 
to  suborn  the  law. 

Dominica  continued  in  bed,  and  grew  sicker 
and  sicker.  Day  by  day  don  Enrique  was 
more  cowed.  The  timid  and  slothful  Arias 
deferred  his  journey  to  Madrid.  Three  months 
passed  thus.  Then  don  Enrique  died. 


«I 


Y         In  the  beginning  was  darkness  .   ,   . 
Darkness  slow,  confused. 
A  nothingness   .    .   a  hollow  void. 
There  was  neither  form  nor  color. 
The  Voice  was  sounding;  the  Voice  went  forth, 
And  with  the  Voice,  light  came  .   .   . 
Things  took  shape; 
Action  was  unfolded, 
History  was  born. 

Light  came  to  be  out  of  pain  and  anguish; 
Every  birth  leaves  a  body 
Broken. 

Now  can  be  seen  red  blood  on  the  virginal  body 
Falling  .   .   .  heavily  faltthg  ... 
Yet  there  is  thick  night; 
For  the  light  was  the  word 
Shrouded  in  darkness. 


X 


HE  afternoon  was  waning. 
The  shadows  were  absorbing, 
and  saturating  Dominica's 
room.  As  if  the  shadows  were 
grown  dense,  and  suddenly  con- 
gealed, Arias  appeared,  silent,  agitated,  shud- 
dering. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Arias?"  said  Dominica 
sitting  up  in  bed. 

Arias  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
"Calm  yourself,  Dominica.    Calm  yourself, 
and  let  me  try  to  get  calm.     I  must  talk  to 
you.     Give  me  a  little  water." 

Dominica  offered  her  brother  a  glass  of 
sweetened  water  which  was  standing  on  her 
night  table.  Arias  went  on : 

"Dominica,  you  well  know  how  much  I  love 
you;  how  much  I  have  always  loved  you.  I 
cannot  allow  you  to  be  unhappy.  You  are 
going  to  marry  Prospero.  You  are  going  to 
marry  at  once.  I  shall  set  him  free  this  very 
day." 

148 


Dominica  was  listening  without  a  clear  con- 
sciousness of  what  she  heard.  She  could  not 
repress  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Wait  a  few  seconds,  and  your  heart  will 
be  enlightened.  From  here  I  shall  go  before 
the  judge  and  declare  to  him  it  was  1  who 
killed  the  widow  Candelero  and  her  daughter." 

Dominica  bent  forward  and  caught  her 
brother  by  the  wrists. 

"Arias!  Arias!  Arias!  Are  you  out  of 
your  mind?  Are  you  mad?  What  are  you 
going  to  do,  brother?  Who  will  believe  you? 
I  cannot  accept  your  sacrifice,  I  shall  contra- 
dict what  you  say.  All  will  see  that  you  have 
made  it  up.  Wake  up,  Arias,  wake  up!'* 

"Be  quiet,  Dominica.  It  is  not  a  sacrifice  | 
It  is  not  an  invention.  It  is  the  truth."  ^ 

It  grew  dark  in  the  room.  Arias  had  sunk 
into  the  darkness  of  eternity.  Dominica  only 
heard  him,  as  if  his  voice  reached  her  from 
worlds  beyond.  His  voice  was  no  longer  the 
beloved  and  familiar  voice. 

"I  killed  her,  helped  by  Bermudo.  The 
nightwatchman  who  opened  the  door  for  us 
will  confirm  my  declaration.  I  don't  know 
how  it  was.  I  was  beside  myself.  It  was  not 
I.  Do  you  remember  poor  Delfin  when  I 


150     THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON 

tried  to  kill  him  ?  Well,  it  was  the  same  thing. 
When  I  entered  the  house  it  was  with  no 
thought  of  murdering  them.  I  swear  it  by 
the  love  I  bear  you.  Then,  afterwards,  dur- 
ing  the  first  month,  I  forgot  that  it  was  I  who 
had  killed  them.  Whenever  I  heard  the  crime 
mentioned,  I  formed  in  my  mind  vague  con- 
nections, as  if  I  were  in  a  fog,  or  as  if  I  had 
dreamed  it  all.  I  came  to  think  I  had  been 
dreaming,  that  the  dream  imposed  itself  upon 
me  as  a  reality,  that  my  reason  wandered.  .  . 
I  was  afraid.  Yesterday  I  asked  Bermudo: 
'Did  I  dream  it,  Bermudo?'  I  asked  him  noth- 
ing more.  It  was  enough.  Bermudo  said 
eNo'  with  his  head.  Now  everything  comes 
back  clearly  to  me,  as  if  it  had  all  taken  shape. 
Yes,  it  is  true !" — He  continued  after  a  pause. 
"I  was  in  love  with  that  woman.  In  love 
is  not  the  word  to  express  it.  More  in  love 
than  you  are  with  Merlo.  Much  more,  for 
your  love  received  in  compensation  a  similar 
love.  And  mine  was  an  impossible  love.  Why 
impossible?  How  can  I  tell?  It  was  some- 
thing superior  to  my  will.  I  did  not  dare  to 
confess  it.  A  thousand  times  I  wrote  her, 
and  tore  each  letter  into  bits.  I  tried  to  look 
at  her,  to  make  her  understand,  but  I  couldn't, 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON    151 

sister,  I  could  not,  I  could  not !  The  suspicion 
alone  that  she  might  not  love  me,  made  my 
blood  freeze,  and  then  whirl  into  my  temples, 
my  eyes,  my  tongue.  I  did  not  even  dare  to 
ask  the  neighbors  who  she  was,  and  what  her 
name  was.  Then  it  was  that  Bermudo  found 
out  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  widow  Can- 
delero.  Every  night,  every  single  night, 
Dominica,  I  have  gone  to  her  door,  and  have 
prostrated  myself  to  kiss  the  threshold  upon 
which  she  trod,  and  I  have  kissed  the  gratings 
of  her  home  more  times  than  there  are  stars 
in  heaven." 

Another  pause. 

"That  night  we  were  on  the  watch  for  Pros- 
pero  to  come  out.  At  first  I  thought  I  would 
tap  at  her  window.  Then  I  changed  my  mind. 
It  was  better  to  go  in.  But  while  I  was  hes- 
itating whether  to  do  it  or  not,  time  passed. 
The  nightwatchman  opened  the  door  for  us. 
We  went  in.  As  I  did  not  know  the  house, 
and  was  not  going  in  like  a  robber,  I  lighted 
a  match  and  we  went  forward  along  the  entry, 
and  up  the  stairs.  At  the  top  appeared  Lola. 
She  was  in  her  nightdress.  From  where  we 
were  we  could  see  her  feet.  I  divined  at  once 
that  Lola  (I  don't  know  if  I  have  told  you 


152     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

that  she  was  named  Lola)  was  going  to  flee, 
to  run  to  the  window,  and  to  awaken  the 
neighbors.  'Hold  her  fast,'  I  ordered  Ber- 
mudo.  I  can  see  him  now.  He  leaped  like  a 
wild  beast,  seized  her  from  behind,  and 
gagged  her.  I  myself  ran  forward  to  take  her 
in  my  arms.  She  was  so  soft,  so  warm,  so 
sweet.  .  .  .  My  heart  melts  as  I  recall  it, 
and  I  still  feel  that  I  have  her  in  my  arms. 
I  rained  kisses  upon  her,  and  that  she  might 
not  scream,  bit  her  lips  and  kissed  them  at  the 
same  time.  All  this  was  in  the  dark.  My  rea- 
son was  forsaking  me.  I  scarcely  realized 
anything.  From  the  depths  of  the  house  came 
the  voice  of  the  mother.  She  said,  I  can  still 
hear  her,  'But,  Lola,  what  are  you  doing? 
Where  are  you  V  and  as  there  was  no  response, 
she  came  at  once.  In  her  hand  was  a  candle. 
She  was  struck  dumb.  The  candle  fell  to 
the  ground  and  continued  burning.  I  saw 
myself  ruined.  The  weight  of  the  whole  world 
fell  upon  me.  It  was  I  who  drew  the  knife 
from  Bermudo's  pocket  and  stabbed  the  old 
woman.  Lola  had  risen  to  her  feet.  She  was 
about  three  paces  away.  She  spit  in  my  face 
and  then  rushed  upon  me  as  if  to  tear  out  my 
eyes.  And  all  without  saying  a  word.  The 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    153 

whole  time  she  spoke  not  a  word.  Never  did 
I  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice.  If  she  had 
spoken,  I  think  I  should  not  have  killed  her; 
there  would  have  been  light.  But  she  did  not 
speak,  she  did  not  speak!  Before  she  reached 
me,  I  had  the  knife  buried  in  her  breast.  .  . 
And  so  many  times,  many  times,  many  times." 

And  the  heavy  shadows  which  thronged  the 
room  were,  for  Arias  and  Dominica,  peopled 
with  visions. 

"I  have  never  wished  anyone  harm.  My 
ambitions  were  generous,  noble.  How  many 
times  I  have  felt  myself  ill,  because  my  heart 
was  too  great  for  my  bosom  to  hold  it!  This 
heart  of  mine,  so  great  and  passionate,  sti- 
fled me.  I  have  been  indolent  because  I  knew 
I  should  never  accomplish  deeds  as  lofty  as 
I  aspired  to.  Why  did  I  kill  Lola?  How  did 
I  kill  her?  .  .  .  Bermudo  and  I  left  the  house. 
We  said  no  word  to  each  other.  We  came  in 
and  went  to  bed.  I  slept  like  a  stone.  The 
following  day  I  had  forgotten  everything. 
When  I  heard  the  news  of  the  crime,  I 
thought  I  remembered  vaguely.  I  said  to 
myself:  'And  yet  they  will  deny  that  dreams 
are  true,'  thinking  that  I  had  had  a  presenti- 
ment in  my  dreams.  And  so  I  lived  many 


154     THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  L1MON 

days.  But  everything  has  come  to  an  end 
now.  Good-by,  Dominica.  Be  happy.  Marry 
Prospero.  Good-by,  Dominica." 

Arias  kissed  his  sister  on  the  brow,  and  went 
out  running.  Dominica  was  rigid  with  terror. 
She  tried  to  rush  after  him  to  hold  him  back. 
She  fell  senseless  at  the  foot  of  her  bed. 

Merlo  was  set  free,  but  he  did  not  marry 
Dominica. 

He  wrote  her  a  note  which  was,  word  for 
word,  as  follows: 

"You  will  understand  that  after  what  has 
happened,  you  have  ceased  to  exist  for  me. 
Prospero  Merlo." 

In  the  face  of  such  disaster,  Dominica  con- 
\y  centrated  all  her  energies,  and  was  able  to  rise 
above  adversity. 

The  trial  lasted  more  than  a  year.  Arias 
and  Bermudo  were  condemned  to  death. 

When  the  sentence  was  made  known  to 
them,  Fernanda  and  Dominica  went  to  the 
prison  to  see  their  brother  for  the  last  time, 
and  then  they  left  Guadalfranco. 


VI         The  sun  glitters  with  a  new  lure; 
The  silver  bell  is  ringing. 
This  bell  rings  for  a  baptism; 
Godmother  weeps  for  joy. 

But  the  sky  is  clouded  over! 
This  is  the  bell  of  sorrow. 
The  prison-bell  is  tolling 
For  one  who  had  to  die. 

Come,  let  us  drain  the  cup 
Of  honey-colored  wine  I 
Dregs  lurk  in  the  depths, 
Of  poison-hemlock,  of  gall. 

Ding  dong  .   .   .  ding  dong  .   .  . 
Bells  in  their  airy  towers 
Announce  the  knight  in  silver; 
Oh  shining   mystery! 

Ding  dong  .   .   .  ding  dong  .  .  t 
Bells  in  the  cemeteries 
Announce  the  black  Paladin; 
Oh  riddle  dark  and  strange  t 


XI 


HAT  morning  I  woke  up  with- 
out being  called.  On  other 
mornings,  one  of  dona  Trina's 
maids,  la  Prisca,  was  accustom- 
ed to  bring  me  my  breakfast. 
La  Prisca,  like  her  mistress,  was  also  a  na- 
tive of  Alcarria.  She  had  a  spherical  face, 
a  cubical  head,  a  cylindrical  body,  a  conical 
arrangement  of  petticoats.  By  these  geo- 
metric indications  I  mean  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  la  Prisca  did  not  give  the  impres- 
sion of  being  a  rational  creature,  nor  even  an 
irrational  one,  as  are  those  other  examples 
who  perform  domestic  duties.  She  was  rather 
a  thing,  in  the  visible  form  of  which  were  rep- 
resented various  symbolic  qualities:  solidity, 
accuracy,  strength,  regularity.  She  was  like 
the  crystallization  of  those  obscure  agencies, 
beneficent  or  irresponsible,  which  are  found  in 
nature  for  the  benefit  of  man. 

I  looked  at  the  clock.    It  was  approaching 
midday.     I    had    ordered   my    breakfast    at 

156 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    157 

eight.  I  pulled  the  bell-cord.  La  Prisca  ap- 
peared. Into  the  orb  of  her  face  various  fleet- 
ing convulsions  were  insinuating  themselves 
after  the  fashion  of  facial  expressions,  which 
some  human  feeling  had  jerked  forth.  With- 
out being  certain  that  I  guessed  right,  I  in- 
terpreted these  expressive  signs  as  manifesta- 
tions of  satisfaction.  The  novelty  of  the  thing 
made  my  crossness  vanish. 

"Explain  yourself,  Prisca." 

Prisca  explain  herself?  Well,  I  was  not 
asking  anything.  .  . 

"Out  with  it,  Prisca;  help  me  to  under- 
stand." 

Prisca  waved  her  arms,  going  off  into  fits 
of  shrill  and  nervous  laughter.  Then  she  mo- 
tioned me  to  be  silent.  I  listened.  In  the 
hall  could  be  heard  the  hurried  tapping  of 
heels.  Prisca  filled  her  windpipe  with  air,  and 
came  out  like  a  shot  with  the  words : 

"•Mariquita  is  in  pain,"  and  she  laughed 
again  after  her  own  fashion. 

"Well,  I  don't  consider  it  a  cause  for  mirth 
that  Mariquita  is  in  pain." 

But  Prisca  persisted  in  laughing.  I  con- 
tinued to  look  at  her.  It  was  not  exactly 


158     THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

a  hilarious  laughter.  Her  laughter  was  from 
the  heart  and  due  to  emotion. 

"I've  guessed  it,  Prisca.  I've  guessed  it. 
You  want  to  tell  me  that  Mariquita's  baby  is 
coming." 

Prisca  gave  assent  with  her  head. 

I  got  up,  dressed,  and  went  into  the  hall 
where  I  met  dona  Trina,  going  along  as  if 
transfigured,  and  unconscious  of  my  presence. 
Then  I  went  out  and  did  not  return  until 
luncheon.  Mariquita  was  in  great  suffering. 
The  meal  that  day  left  much  to  be  desired. 
The  servants  walked  about  hither  and  thither 
without  a  moment's  escape,  at  the  orders  of 
dona  Trina,  as  if  there  were  no  guests  in  the 
house.  We  ourselves  set  the  table  and 
brought  the  pans  in  from  the  kitchen,  and 
helped  ourselves  as  if  in  an  eating-house.  The 
talk,  naturally,  turned  upon  Mariquita.  On 
that  account,  no  one  noticed  that  the  two 
enigmatic  women  had  not  come  to  luncheon. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  in  great  an- 
guish but  safely,  Mariquita  was  delivered  of 
a  boy.  The  evening  meal  was  better  attended 
to.  The  enigmatic  women  did  not  appear  at 
this  meal,  nor  was  their  presence  missed.  It 
was  Saturday. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON    159 

Before  retiring,  I  read  the  evening  papers. 
All  published  in  detail,  the  ignominious  death 
at  the  garrote  of  Arias  Limon  y  Uceda,  and 
his  servant  Bermudo.  What  I  read  transfixed 
me  with  horror.  From  time  immemorial  no 
capital  punishments  had  taken  place  in  Gua- 
dalfranco.  They  had  to  employ  an  improvised 
executioner  who  did  not  know  his  business, 
and  who  prolonged  the  agony  of  the  con- 
demned for  more  than  an  hour.  The  entire 
population  surrounded  the  jail  while  the  exe- 
cution was  taking  place.  As  they  were  long 
in  hoisting  the  black  flag,  the  sign  of  death, 
there  was  a  riot  and  the  mob  tried  to  take  the 
prison  by  storm.  When  the  black  flag  went 
up,  the  disturbance  increased.  The  rioters 
were  afraid  they  had  been  deceived.  They  sus- 
pected that  the  execution  had  been  feigned  in 
order  to  put  in  safety  the  son  of  the  late  Boss, 
and  facilitate  his  flight  to  Portugal.  In  order 
to  make  sure,  they  beat  the  prison-door  down, 
and  one  by  one,  all  the  inhabitants  of  Guadal- 
franco  inspected  the  bodies  with  their  own 
eyes.  Some  insulted  them,  some  mocked  at 
them,  some  spit  in  their  faces. 

At  Sunday  luncheon,  dofia  Trina  treated 
her  guests  to  an  extra  course:  fritters,  can- 


160     THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON 

dies,  sherry,  and  small  glasses  of  cognac. 
The  two  unknown  women — unknown  to  all 
the  boarders,  but  not  to  me — were  present 
at  the  luncheon  dressed  in  mourning.  The 
deputy  for  Colmenar  de  la  Oreja  had  with  him 
as  a  guest  a  young  bullfighter  in  the  making, 
nicknamed  Huevillos  VII,  and  gave  evidence 
of  being  much  elated  with  his  company  and 
friendship.  He  predicted  to  us  that  within  a 
very  few  months,  as  far  as  Bombita  and  el 
Machaco  were  concerned,  Huevillos  VII 
would  "eat  'em  alive."  The  chief  of  the  re- 
publican party  of  Tarazona,  with  the  flowing 
beard  divided  in  two,  like  the  udder  of  a  goat, 
displayed  that  day  the  aforementioned  beard 
particularly  thick  and  voluminous,  resembling 
indeed  a  full  udder  a  few  moments  before  be- 
ing milked.  All  drank  with  genteel  fre- 
quency. All  talked  and  laughed  at  the  same 
time.  All  uttered  fervent  wishes  for  the  health 
and  happiness  of  Mariquita  and  the  new-born 
child.  On  one  occasion  when  dona  Trina  ap- 
peared in  the  dining-room  all  rose  to  acclaim 
her  and  give  her  an  ovation.  All  was  hilarity, 
noise  and  chatter. 

But  the  unknown  women  did  not  lift  their 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  LIMON  161 

eyes  from  their  plates  and  scarcely  lifted  a 
mouthful  of  food  to  their  mouths. 

As  we  sat  about  the  table,  the  meal  over, 
there  was  a  moment  of  silence  and  weariness. 
Don  Raimundo  Perejil,  the  canon,  who  was 
just  then  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table  and 
resting  his  head  in  his  hand,  began  to  speak 
meditatively : 

"What  life  is !  We  so  uproarious,  and  never- 
theless have  you  read  in  the  papers  about  the 
execution  in  Guadalfranco?" 

"It  was  a  magnificent  punishment,"  put  in 
the  republican  leader,  making  use  of  a  phrase 
not  befitting  a  tribune.  "They  kept  squeezing 
their  gullets  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  the 
wretches  refused  to  turn  up  their  toes." 

The  two  women  in  mourning  rose  hastily 
and  left  the  room  with  unsteady  steps.  They 
were,  however,  within  earshot  of  the  last  re- 
mark made  by  the  man  with  the  flowing 
beard : 

"Of  course.  They  richly  deserved  it.  That's 
what  should  be  done  with  all  political  bosses." 

Dona  Trina  grew  white.  She  began  to 
speak,  stammering: 

"Did  you.  .  .  not  know  .  .  .  that  those  two 


162     THE  FALL   OF  THE  HOUSE   OF  LIMON 

ladies  are  the  sisters  of  Arias  Limon  y 
Uceda?" 

All  were  seized  by  a  mortal  stupor,  except 
the  republican,  who  struck  a  heavy  blow  with 
his  fist  on  the  table,  drew  down  his  eyebrows 
until  they  overshadowed  his  eyes,  and  said  in 
a  fierce  voice: 

"So  that  hypocrite,  the  older  of  the  two,  is 
the  one  the  papers  call  'The  She-Boss,'  the 
worst  of  all  the  Limones?  How  hot  it  makes 
me  that  I  did  not  know  it  before,  so  that  I 
might  have  told  her  a  thing  or  two!  She  also 
should  have  been  hanged.  And  the  other 
prude  too,  for  connivance.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  justice  in  this  country!" 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 


jQual  ventura  serie  esta,  si  ploguiese  al  Creador, 
que  assomasse  essora  el  Cid  Campeador! 

—Potma  de  Myo  Cid 


TO  LUIS  ARAQUISTAIN 


Home  of  my  happy  days, 

Home  of  mine,  precious  home, 

Be  sure  I  should  never  exchange  you 

For  palaces  of  kings! 

Room  of  my  lonely  nights, 

Humble  bed,  friendly  bed. 

B«  sure  I  should  never  leave  yon 

For  those  of  kings  and  princesi 

Dearer  to  me  these  clothes 

Woven  of  coarsest  hemp 

Than  linens  known  to  kings, 

Than  linens  sheer  and  fine: 

Dearer  these  mattresses 

Made  of  corn-shucks  and  wool 

Than  those  for  kings  made  soft 

With  feathers  of  heron  or  swan. 

My  pillow  is  filled  with  herbs 

Aromatic,  sweet, 

With  tender  memories 

And  dreams  about  to-morrow. 

The  king  upon  his  pillow 

Lies  back  but  cannot  rest; 

A  thousand  cares  pursue  him, 

A   thousand  fears  assail  him! 

But  I,  how  many  nights 

I  dreamed  my  love  was  won! 

Home  of  my  happy  days, 

Home  of  mine,  precious  home, 

Unless  it  were  to  marry, 

Be  sure  I  should  never  leave  you. 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 


ASTOR  CAGIGAL  was  al- 
ready dressed  in  his  best  attire, 
his  chin  close  shaved  and  his 
dark  hair  smooth  and  shiny. 
He  wore  a  navy-blue  suit,  pat- 
ent leather  boots,  a  red  satin  necktie,  and,  stuck 
into  the  knot,  a  heart-shaped  gold  pin  set  with 
varicolored  stones,  which  represented  two  gal- 
loping horses  and  a  whip  with  as  many  turns 
and  cabalistic  flourishes  as  a  notary's  rubric. 
This  pin  was  a  gift  from  his  sweetheart. 

Castor  looked  about  the  room  in  which  he 
was,  thinking  that  very  soon  he  would  be  liv- 
ing in  it  no  longer.  He  counted  on  his  fingers, 
and  then  aloud:  "To-day,  Sunday,  Monday, 
Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday  and  Friday. 
Sum  total,  six  more  days." 

He  sighed.  With  his  eyes  he  caressed 
the  white  walls  of  the  room,  the  beams  of  the 
ceiling  indigo-blue  in  color,  the  silent,  homely 

165 


166  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

articles  which  dwelt  there :  the  mahogany  bed, 
almost  as  wide  as  it  was  long,  more  than  a 
yard  off  the  floor,  with  four  fat  mattresses, 
crocheted  spread,  and  gaudy  quilt,  both  these 
the  work  of  dona  Predestinacion,  far  back  in 
her  youth.  Then  there  were  the  dresser,  also 
of  mahogany,  big-bellied,  and  of  courtly  ap- 
pearance, with  the  great  mirror  which  crowned 
it,  swathed  in  green  gauze;  the  carved  chest, 
the  horsehair  armchair,  the  silver  receptacle 
for  holy-water,  the  blessed  palm  branch,  the 
lace  curtains,  and,  beyond  the  half -open  door, 
the  sitting  room  in  shadow  with  its  furniture 
upholstered  in  crimson  woolen.  It  was  a 
clean,  bright,  attractive,  secluded,  homelike 
apartment.  It  seemed  not  to  belong  to  a 
boarding-house.  Nevertheless  to  one  it  did 
belong. 

It  was  the  only  inn,  lodging-house,  hos- 
telry or  hotel  of  Cenciella,  for  thus  the  town 
was  named.  On  the  ground  floor  there  was 
something  on  the  order  of  a  shop,  stocked  with 
a  variety  of  groceries,  dry  goods,  iron,  and 
tinware,  and  notions,  and  having  also  its  bit 
of  a  tavern.  House,  inn  and  shop  belonged  to 
dona  Predestinacion.  In  the  house  there  lived 
only  two  regular  boarders:  Castor  Cagigal, 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  167 

secretary  of  the  town  council,  and  Deogracias 
Alpaca,  leader  of  the  municipal  band.  On 
very  rare  occasions  some  traveling  salesman 
stayed  over  night.  Dona  Predestinacion  had 
no  use  for  the  musician.  He  was  forty  years 
of  age,  thin  as  a  skeleton,  sallow,  impertinent; 
his  voice  when  he  spoke  rattled  like  a  pebble, 
he  coughed  constantly,  and  spat  in  every  di- 
rection. Moreover,  he  paid  a  peseta  less  than 
the  secretary.  Castor  had  captivated  dona 
Predestinacion  from  the  very  first  moment, 
for  his  fine,  lithe  figure,  his  gentle,  childlike 
face,  his  timid  gestures,  his  pensive  eyes,  and 
his  ingenuous  words.  Day  after  day  the 
boarding-house  keeper  grew  fonder  of  him. 
As  they  lingered  at  table  after  a  meal,  if  Mr. 
Alpaca  were  not  present,  she  seated  herself 
beside  him  and  questioned  him  solicitously 
about  his  past  life.  When  she  found  out  that 
he  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  dona  Pre- 
destinacion was  moved  to  tears.  "Poor  child! 
Poor  child,"  she  exclaimed  sorrowfully  as  if 
it  were  a  case  of  an  abandoned  baby,  and  she 
took  the  napkin  of  Deogracias  in  order  to  wipe 
her  eyes.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Castor,  at  that 
time,  was  twenty-eight  years  old. 

Little  by  little,  at  various  sessions,  or  linger- 


168  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

ing  after  meals,  Castor  had  related  his  story 
to  dona  Predestinacion.  He  was  the  son  of 
poor  farmers  of  the  province  of  Salamanca. 
When  a  child,  he  had  gone  to  the  city  as  ser- 
vant in  the  home  of  a  lawyer  who  taught  him 
his  primer.  Later,  on  his  own  account,  steal- 
ing the  time  from  sleep,  he  had  gone  through 
the  highschool,  and  finished  his  course  in  law, 
with  high  honor.  His  law  course  over,  he 
had  entered  a  preparatory  academy  in  Valla- 
dolid  as  a  student  assistant,  with  a  wretched 
pittance.  In  Valladolid,  without  knowing 
how,  he  had  conceived  a  great  fondness  for 
painting  in  oils.  He  had  bought  a  cheap  box 
of  colors  and  taught  himself  to  paint.  On  a 
certain  occasion  he  had  read  in  the  Official 
Bulletin  of  the  province  of  Pilares  that  the 
post  as  secretary  of  Cenciella  was  vacant  at  a 
salary  of  four  hundred  dollars.  He  applied, 
unprotected  by  any  favor  or  "pull,"  and  with- 
out hope  of  obtaining  the  place.  And  he 
did  get  it,  as  luck  would  have  it,  because  he 
had  no  "pull."  Since  his  arrival  in  Cenciella, 
he  considered  himself  happy.  Before  then  he 
had  done  nothing  but  study,  work,  inhabit 
miserable  rooms,  live  very  frugally,  and  dream 
always.  He  had  no  friends,  nor  love-affairs 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  169 

except  in  dreams,  nor  had  he  known  play,  re- 
laxation, or  entertainments  of  any  kind.  In 
Cenciella  he  had  scarcely  anything  to  do.  In 
the  daytime  he  went  out  to  paint.  In  the 
afternoons  he  came  indoors  to  read,  or  to 
prepare  himself  for  rather  vague  future  com- 
petitive examinations.  Within  a  month  of 
his  being  her  lodger,  dona  Predestinacion 
called  him  "son"  and  ceded  to  him  the  nuptial 
chamber  and  sitting  room,  in  order  that  in  the 
latter  he  might  receive  visitors,  and  place  his 
books,  papers  and  paintings.  Castor  felt,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  in  his  own  house,  in 
his  own  home. 

He  was  not  long  in  falling  madly  in  love 
with  a  girl  of  Cenciella,  Balbina  Carbajo,  also 
an  orphan,  who  lived  with  her  grandfather, 
senor  Joaco,  an  austere  and  miserly  old  man, 
who  had  spent  his  youth  in  South  America. 
The  old  man  had  a  moderate  income,  but 
obliged  his  granddaughter  to  work  at  home  as 
a  seamstress.  Balbina  was  the  most  indus- 
trious girl  in  town,  and  perhaps  the  love- 
liest. Castor  had  not  the  courage  to  confess 
his  love  to  dona  Predestinacion  but  the  latter 
had  no  need  of  confessions,  for  she  divined  it 
all  at  once,  and  what  she  did  not  divine,  she 


170  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

found  out  within  a  few  days.  Dona  Predesti- 
nation felt  herself  moved  to  her  very  depths, 
and  determined  to  lead  to  a  happy  conclusion 
that  love  affair  which  received  from  her  the 
tenderest,  the  most  positive  and  the  most  tear- 
ful approval.  As  Castor  was  afraid  of  the  old 
man,  it  was  dona  Predestination  who  formally 
demanded  of  Sr.  Joaco,  the  hand  of  Balbina. 
It  was  worth  seeing  how  smartly  dressed 
dona  Predestination  was  upon  that  solemn 
occasion!  So  much  so,  that  Deogracias  Al- 
paca paid  her  his  addresses  without  a  shade 
of  dissimulation.  Sr.  Joaco  accepted  the  sec- 
retary as  a  most  suitable  match.  The  wedding 
day  was  fixed  for  the  last  week  in  April.  The 
couple  would  live  with  the  grandfather.  When 
she  returned  from  Sr.  Joaco's  house,  dona 
Predestination  kissed  Castor  on  the  forehead 
and  addressed  him  as  "thou."  She  was  laugh- 
ing and  crying  at  the  same  time.  From  that 
day,  dona  Predestination  became  sad.  Deo- 
gracias Alpaca  made  every  effort  to  cheer 
her,  telling  her  jokes,  and  paying  her  compli- 
ments to  which  she  replied  with  angry  eyes 
and  harsh  words.  All  this  had  taken  up  one 
year. 

And  now  the  last  week  in  April  had  ar- 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  171 

rived,  the  day  when  the  banns  for  Castor  and 
Balbina  were  to  be  published  for  the  third 
time.  It  was  Sunday.  The  day  had  dawned 
clear,  marvelously  clear. 


«J 


JJ        Mornings  of  April  and  May,  glorious,  made  for  love! 
Birds  of  the  orchard  sing  from  the  moment  God 

lights  the  dawn. 
The  greenfinch    sings  like  an  elf.    Like  an  elf  the 

greenfinch  sings. 

For  joy  of  so  much  splendor,  early  the  sun  appears. 
But  my  lady,  up  before  him,  from  her  balcony 

looked. 
Last  night  she  did  not  sleep:  nor  did  I  sleep  last 

night. 

Mornings  of  April  and  May,  glorious,  made  for  love, 
More  glorious  than  all  others,  early  dawn  of  to-day! 
To-day's  sun  the  most  glorious,  for  this  is  the  day 

of  the  Lord! 
The  bell  of  the  church  is  calling,  calling  to  you,  to 

me: 

How  the  bell  reechoes,  keeps  ringing  in  my  heart! 
With  my  dear  one  to  church  I  go,  and  take  my 

vows. 
Mornings  of  April  and  May,  glorious,  made  for 

love! 

The  serpent  of  evil 
Made  known  its  voice: 
Through  winter  it  slept. 
Summer  has  roused  it. 


II 


AS  TOR  looked  about  his  room 
regretfully.  He  was  attached 
to  it ;  he  had  for  it  a  vague  sort 
of  love  and  gratitude.  It 
grieved  him  to  live  in  it  no 
longer.  Once  more  he  sighed.  He  opened  his 
balcony,  which  led  into  a  long  outer  corridor 
projecting  over  the  town  common. 

Castor  went  out  into  the  corridor.  The  sun- 
shine, melting  into  the  April  air,  enveloped 
him,  flooded  him,  penetrated  to  his  very  bones 
and  heart  with  exquisite  quiverings.  Castor 
had  always  imagined  that  Sunday  sunlight 
differed  from  that  of  the  other  days.  Sun- 
day light  was  passionate,  while  upon  other 
days  it  was  an  indifferent  light.  But  the  sun- 
light of  that  last  Sunday  in  April  was,  for 
Castor,  more  passionate  than  ever  before. 
With  his  hands  on  the  railing  of  the  corridor, 
and  with  eyes  almost  closed,  he  gave  himself 
to  the  joy  of  embracing  confusedly  within  his 
memory,  the  year  of  his  life  in  Cenciella,  a 

173 


174  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

year  of  bliss  which  had  reached  its  culmination. 

Someone  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  It 
was  dona  Predestination. 

"Will  you  come  in,  my  child,  for  a  moment's 
conversation?" 

"Certainly." 

"Close  the  balcony.  Close  the  sitting  room 
doors.  I  don't  want  that  so-called  bandmaster 
of  an  Alpaca  to  hear  us." 

"Is  it  a  secret  that  you  are  going  to  tell 
me?" 

"There  is  no  secret,  and  there  is  a  secret. 
Let  me  see.  What  are  you  going  to  do  to- 
day? Tell  me  exactly  what  you  are  thinking 
of  doing." 

Castor  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  dis- 
appointment. 

"If  it  troubles  you  to  tell  me  what  you  in- 
tend to  do,  I  should  rather  not  have  you 
do  so." 

"It  isn't  that,  dona  Predestinacion.  You 
see  until  this  moment  I  had  forgotten  what 
I  have  to  do  this  morning.  What  a  bother! 
Just  imagine  .  .  .  The  whole  year  long,  there 
are  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  meetings  of 
the  town  council.  I  write  up  the  minutes  each 
week,  just  as  if  there  had  been  a  meeting.  And 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  175 

today,  today,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  last 
day  of  the  banns,  when  I  ought  to  spend  the 
entire  day  with  my  sweetheart,  the  mayor  sees 
fit  to  call  a  meeting  in  the  morning,  to  con- 
sider the  apportionment  of  the  excise  tax,  so 
that  I  sha'n't  be  able  even  to  attend  mass  with 
Balbina." 

"To  this  I  tell  you:  first  that  as  regards  the 
tax  you  try  to  get  me  exempted,  because  last 
year  they  did  me;  and  secondly  I  ask  you: 
do  you  think  that  this  inconvenience  the  mayor 
is  giving  you  is  involuntary,  or,  on  the  con- 
trary, intentional?" 

"Intentional?" 

"Don't  you  know  that  the  mayor  is  at  outs 
with  Sr.  Joaco,  because  he  has  been  wishing 
for  some  time  to  buy  his  orchard  which  takes 
in  an  angle  of  the  mayor's  property,  and  the 
old  man,  obstinate  as  they  make  them,  won't 
sell  it  for  less  than  twice  what  it's  worth?" 

"And  what's  the  point  about  that?" 

"Don't  you  know  that  the  mayor  threatened 
Sr.  Joaco?" 

"Gossip  of  the  town." 

"And  don't  you  know  that  the  two  polit- 
ical factions  of  the  Becerriles  and  the  Chorizos 
are  mortal  enemies?" 


176  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

"That  is  so,  unfortunately." 

"Don't  you  know  that  the  Becerriles  are 
spreading  it  about  that  you  are  on  the  side 
of  the  Chorizos,  and  are  helping  them  in  their 
dirty  work?" 

"That's  not  true." 

"But  the  Becerriles  are  saying  it  behind 
your  back." 

"I  am  not  a  partisan,  and  moreover  I  am 
honest.  After  all  is  said  and  done,  both  sides 
will  be  convinced  of  this." 

"And  don't  you  know  that  the  Becerriles, 
sons  and  nephews  of  the  mayor,  what  with 
being  two-for-a-penny  nobility  and  political 
bosses,  and  having  the  frying  pan  by  the  han- 
dle and  being  the  low-down  beasts  the  Lord 
made  them,  will  do  any  atrocious  thing  they 
take  a  notion  to?" 

"And  what's  that  to  me?" 

"That  Leto,  the  eldest,  courted  Balbina, 
surely  you  know  that?" 

"She  paid  no  attention  to  him." 

"Saints  above!  I  should  say  she  didn't  pay 
any  attention  to  that  devil !  He  is  a  scoundrel, 
a  black  scoundrel.  You  don't  say  anything? 
God  have  mercy  on  you !  You  don't  even  find 
a  way  of  speaking  ill  of  those  who  have  tried 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  177 

to  harm  you.  Yes,  Leto  courted  her,  and  then 
his  brother,  that  hideous  Tarin,  and  afterwards 
another  brother,  that  dirty  $fan  who  be- 
trayed Telva,  the  girl  in  the  tobacco  shop. 
The  three  made  up  to  her,  one  after  another, 
and  the  three,  with  evil  intention.  I  don't 
tell  you  this,  Son,  to  wound  you.  I  don't 
wish  to  make  you  suffer,  but  only  to  spare 
you  sorrow,  and  to  warn  you  against  danger. 
Last  night  after  you  went  up  to  bed,  Lon- 
ginos  was  in  the  shop,  Longinos  the  Jester, 
as  they  have  nicknamed  him,  the  servant,  or 
footman,  or  what  you  will  of  the  Becerriles. 
He  talked  on  and  on,  guardedly,  of  to-day, 
and  whether  something  was  not  going  to  hap- 
pen that  was  going  to  be  heard  of,  and  he 
looked  at  me  with  eyes  so  wicked  and  so  re- 
pulsive that  they  made  me  sick  and  afraid." 

"What's  going  to  happen?  Nothing.  All 
that  you  have  said  is  certain,  but  since  our 
marriage  was  settled,  they  have  ceased  perse- 
cuting Balbina." 

"You  say  they  have?" 

"Well,  they  have  reproached  her  somewhat, 
and  they  have  complained  now  and  then,  but 
they  have  not  troubled  her  again.  What  do 
they  care  about  Balbina?" 


178  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

"You  think  lightly  of  all  this?  They  are 
mad.  Now  something  else.  Has  Sr.  Joaco 
invited  you  to  dinner?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Heavens!  the  stingy  wretch!  At  what 
time  does  the  meeting  begin?" 

"At  ten." 

"At  what  time  will  it  be  over?" 

"  How  do  I  know?  Somewhere  around  two 
o'clock.  With  all  that  apportionment  busi- 
ness, they  will  never  get  tired  of  arguing." 

"In  short,  you  are  to  go  to  nine  o'clock 
mass.  From  church,  straight  to  the  town  hall, 
and  no  seeing  your  sweetheart.  From  the 
town  hall  you  will  come  home  and  dine.  Dur- 
ing the  afternoon,  you  are  not  to  leave  Bal- 
bina's  house,  and  at  supper  time  I  shall  send 
those  who  are  trustworthy  to  come  back  with 
you.  We  shall  see  if  those  criminals  dare  to 
do  anything." 

"Don't  you  worry,  dona  Predestination;  I 
shall  obey  you  in  everything,"  replied  Castor 
with  gentle  docility. 

His  heart  had  not  been  penetrated  by  the 
anxieties  and  the  dread  of  dona  Predesti- 
nacion. 

"God  bless  you,  God  bless  you!    You  are 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  179 

an  angel.     Of  course  God  will  protect  you. 
Otherwise,  there  would  be  no  justice  above!" 

Castor  went  out  on  his  way  to  church. 
Scarcely  had  he  stepped  into  the  street  when 
he  had  forgotten  completely  the  admonitions, 
the  warnings,  and  the  apprehensions  of  dona 
Predestination. 


Here,  then,  are  the  nobles.  Yonder  are  the  com- 
mons. 

These  make  show  of  seignority:  all  the  rest  are 
vassals. 

These  follow  the  chase.     Let  others  till  the  -fields. 

These  wield  the  cross-bow.  Let  others  guide  the 
plow. 

Nobles  and  gentlemen,  they  lodge  in  palaces. 

Over  their  lintels  high  are  careen  their  escutcheons. 

Shelter  for  their  dogs;  for  their  horses,  stables: 

Wine  ...  a  plenteous  table,  for  the  ever-booted- 
and-spurred, 

When  without  possessions  they  seize  them  from 
the  poor  folk. 

Lords  in  absolute  right,  long  have  they  called 
themselves. 

Mills  have  crumbled  down,  flour  and  grain  are 
stolen, 

Millers  are  held  by  force,  all  is  desolation. 

Maidens  are  got  with  child:  husbands  are  dis- 
honored. 

No  woman  their  violence  spares  .  .  .  willing  or 
unwilling. 

Here  is  knighthood  in  flower!  Chivalry  known 
of  old! 


Ill 

e 

AS  TOR    went    a    roundabout 
way  to  church  in  order  to  pass 
his  sweetheart's  house. 
"Balbina!    Balbina!" 
A  window  opened,  on  the  sill 
of  whichTwas  a  pot  of  purple  morning  glories, 
and  Balbina  peeped  out,  cheerful  and  fresh  as 
the  morning,  and  bedecked  in  the  bravest  of  her 
finery.    Her  hair,  chestnut  tinged  with  gold, 
was  braided  in  two  braids  down  her  back,  and 
caught  at  her  head  with  a  ribbon  of  celestial 
blue.    Around  her  bare  neck  was  a  string  of 
coral.    A  little  merino  shawl  was  crossed  over 
her  bosom.     The  sun  struck  her  full  in  the 
face.    With  her  hand  she  shielded  her  eyes. 
"I  did  not  expect  you  quite  so  early.  .  .  ." 
"I  did  not  want  to  miss  seeing  you  before 
mass.    Look" — and  with  his  finger  he  pointed 
to  the  two  horses  galloping  over  the  knot  of 
his  cravat. 

"Of   course,    of   course,"    Balbina    smiled 

181 


182  'SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

proudly.  Her  snowy  teeth  gleamed  in  the 
sunlight.  "Do  you  like  it?" 

"I  like  you  better.    You  are  like  a  lily." 

And  indeed  she  called  to  mind  the  symbolic 
flower,  for  her  grace,  her  purity,  and  distinc- 
tion. 

"Hush,  flatterer."  Her  cheeks  flushed  like 
fruit  miraculously  matured.  "Then  you  are 
not  returning  this  morning?" 

"I  shall  not  be  able.  There  will  be  a  long 
meeting.  I  shall  come  over  for  dinner  after- 
wards. And  you?" 

"I  am  going  to  high  mass,  to  the  last  pub- 
lishing of  the  banns.  Then  my  friends  are 
coming  home  with  me.  Grandfather  has 
bought  cakes  and  white  wine." 

"You  will  keep  something  for  me.  .  .  ." 

"Man  alive,  of  course !  .  .  ." 

Within  the  house  sounded  a  voice  calling. 

"Balbina!  Balbina!" 

Balbina  replied: 

"I'm  coming,  grandfather!"  and  then,  turn- 
ing to  Castor:  "Good-by,  grandfather  is  call- 
ing me." 

Scarcely  had  Balbina  withdrawn,  when  Sr. 
Joaco  appeared  in  his  undershirt.  He  was  a 
lean  old  man  with  coarse  eyebrows  and  great 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  183 

white  beard,  puffed  out  and  full  of  impetus 
like  a  foamy  waterfall. 

"Good  morning,  son-in-law.  To-day  indeed 
is  there  Sunday  sunshine  as  you  say.  All 
well  and  good.  Do  you  see  to-day's  light? 
Well,  in  South  America  'tis  always  the  same. 
Hurrah  for  America!" 

And  he  disappeared. 

Castor  went  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
church  to  hear  mass.  On  coming  out,  he  was 
approached  by  Sr.  Nicholas,  the  Teetotum, 
chief  of  the  band  of  the  Chorizos. 

In  the  town  there  were  two  political  fac- 
tions, each  of  which  hated  the  other  to  the 
death,  and  did  each  other  as  much  evil  as 
possible:  the  Chorizos  were  democrats,  the 
Becerriles,  aristocrats  and  political  bosses. 
The  democratic  party  was  made  up  of  all  the 
workmen  and  merchants  of  the  place.  The 
name  was  derived  from  the  only  industry  of  the 
town:  hog-slaughtering  with  its  allied  indus- 
tries of  sausage  making,  tanning,  and  shoe- 
making.  The  Becerriles  had  no  force  of  their 
own.  They  were  merely  the  rural  tools  of 
the  influential  and  powerful  who  dwelt  in  the 
capital  of  the  province  and  in  Madrid.  They 
constituted  a  vast  family.  All  of  them  made 


184  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

show  of  a  coat  of  arms  in  their  homes.  They 
did  not  work,  nor  did  they  do  one  useful  thing. 
They  were  great  hunters,  gamblers,  drunk- 
ards, and  wranglers.  They  committed  with 
impunity  all  manner  of  lawlessness.  For 
many  years  they  had  been  the  tyrants  of  the 
town.  But,  aroused  by  such  insolence  and 
aggressiveness,  the  Chorizos  had  banded  to- 
gether into  a  party  so  strong  and  determined 
that  they  threatened  to  make  an  end  of  the 
Becerriles.  Already  some  politicians  of  the 
capital  and  of  Madrid  had  begun  negotiations 
with  the  Chorizos. 

"It's  certain  the  mayor  has  gone  crazy," 
said  the  Teetotum.  His  nickname  came  to 
him  from  the  configuration  of  his  body,  short 
and  chubby.  He  was  dressed  with  the  great- 
est elaborateness.  Across  his  portly  front  lay 
an  enormous  gold  chain  with  which  he  toyed, 
winding  it  about  his  red  and  puffy  finger. 

"See  here,  Sr.  Nicholas,"  said  Castor,  "I 
don't  consider  it  wise  for  us  to  be  seen  to- 
gether. My  position  is  a  very  delicate  one. 
It  is  nothing  new  to  you,  that  the  Becerriles 
are  reporting  that  I  am  on  your  side." 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  all  right,  but  you  see  you 
will  have  to  come  over  to  our  side.  Make  up 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  185 

your  mind,  and  don't  be  a  child.  They  can't 
put  you  out  of  your  job,  at  any  rate,  even 
though  now  they  have  the  upper  hand.  But 
the  chief  thing  is  that  we  have  the  future  in 
our  hands.  The  rule  of  the  Becerriles  is  over." 

"Not  yet,  Sr.  Nicholas.  Of  course  you 
know  that  my  sympathies  are  with  you; 
but  .  .  ." 

"Don't  be  childish,  but  declare  yourself  once 
and  for  all  on  our  side.  Now  this  is  what  I 
was  coming  to.  In  to-day's  meeting,  the  ma- 
jority is  ours." 

"Majority?" 

"Yes,  sir,  because  you  probably  know  that 
Fermin,  Sabino  and  Justo  have  gone  to  Pi- 
lares  to  the  cockfight.  Apparently  they  had  a 
bet  on  some  disturbance  or  other  for  to-day. 
If  the  Becerriles  lack  these  three  votes,  the 
majority  is  ours.  The  mayor  will  get  hot, 
but  pshaw!  So  our  distribution  of  taxes  will 
go  through  and  not  theirs." 

They  were  approaching  the  town  hall.  At 
the  door,  in  two  groups,  the  aldermen  of  each 
faction  were  waiting.  In  one  group  were  the 
mayor,  don  Senin  Becerril;  his  four  sons,  Leto, 
Pipo,  Tarin,  and  !Sfan,  all  four  of  them  alder- 
men by  the  grace  of  God,  and  his  three 


186  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

nephews,  Doro,  Laton  and  Nin,  also  alder- 
men. The  seven  young  Becer riles  resembled 
one  another  very  closely:  in  their  tall,  big- 
boned,  almost  gigantic  figures,  Tarin  more 
huge  than  any  of  them;  in  their  faces,  gaunt, 
stern  and  cold;  in  their  fair,  tow -like  hair 
and  beard ;  in  their  mode  of  dress,  apparently 
careless,  in  threadbare  suits  of  corduroy  and 
heavy  boots,  and  in  their  rough,  huntsman- 
like  aspect.  The  Chorizos  were  short  in  stat- 
ure and  cheerful  of  countenance.  Every  one 
was  in  his  Sunday  best. 

"We  were  waiting  for  you  in  order  to  be- 
gin, Mr.  Secretary,"  said  the  mayor  shortly. 

"And  so  to-day  the  banns  are  published  for 
the  third  time  ?  My,  my !  I  suppose  you  must 
be  quite  happy,  aren't  you?"  Leto  asked  of 
Castor,  laughing  in  a  perverse,  sarcastic  way. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Castor  briefly. 

"Well,  you're  welcome,"  and  with  his  great 
paw  he  gave  him  a  few  thumps  on  the  shoul- 
der. "The  girl's  a  beauty.  By  Heaven!  Fitf 
for  a  prince !" 

Before  the  meeting  opened,  the  Teetotum 
slipped  into  Castor's  ear: 

"It's  plain  to  me  there's  going  to  be  a 


row." 


IW        Though  I've  no  faith  in  dreams, 
My  heart  is  wrung  with  anguish: 
For  with  my  mortal  eyes 
I  saw  a  dove  go  flying, 
All  white  like  driven  snow, 
No  shadow  of  wrongdoing. 
H«r  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
Coral-red  was  her  beak. 
Seven  falcons  follow 
Torturing  her  as  they  go. 
Fleeing  from  so  much  evil, 
Finding  my  breast  a  haven, 
She  alights  upon  my  heart. 
The  seven  falcons  follow: 
Now  they  have  found  my  breast 
And  torn  it  all  in  pieces: 
Now  they  have  found  the  dove 
And  torn  her  with  their  talons: 
Now  they  have  torn  my  heart  . 
What  blood >  still  welling  forth! 
Now  her  blood  and  mine 
Have  mingled  in  one  stream. 
Some  dreams  are  always  dreams, 
Other  dreams  come  true. 

Over  rocky  ground, 
Climbing  v/p  the  mountain 
Are  riding  seven  nobles 
Mounted  on  nags  and  mules, 
Shouting  as  they  ride. 
Now  they  are  far  away, 
Now  they  have  passed  the  crest  . 
Clear-cut  against  the  sky 
falcons  hover  .  .  ., 


IV 


UST  after  it  had  struck  two, 
Castor  arrived  at  the  house  of 
dona  Predestinacion .  He  looked 
pale  and  depressed.  Alpaca 
had  already  dined,  and  was  still 
seated  at  table,  smoking  a  poor  cigar  and  per- 
petually spitting.  He  excused  himself  to 
Castor  for  not  having  waited  for  him. 

"As  it  was  a  feast  day,  I  couldn't  wait.  We 
have  a  rehearsal  early.  I  suppose  you  know 
that -we  are  going  to  play  a  waltz  this  after- 
noon which  I  have  composed,  and  which  I 
dedicate  to  you  and  Balbina.  Don't  fail  to 
be  on  hand.  Well,  I'm  off.  My  congratula- 
tions to  you." 

Before  leaving,  he  turned  to  dona  Predesti- 
nacion, looked  at  her  with  languishing  eyes,  and 
gave  forth  a  sob : 

"Oh !  When  are  they  going  to  congratulate 
you  and  me  .  .  ." 

"Go  to  Guinea,  you  big  simpleton,"  scolded 

188 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  189 

dona  Predestination,  who  wanted  to  be  alone 
with  Castor. 

As  soon  as  Alpaca  had  left  the  room,  she 
asked  eagerly: 

"What  has  happened?" 

"The  very  devil  of  a  row.  There  they  were 
shouting,  insulting  one  another,  pounding  with 
their  fists  on  the  tables,  until  the  Becerriles 
commenced  to  smash  everything  to  pieces  and 
so  ended  the  meeting,  without  anything  being 
decided." 

"And  did  anything  disagreeable  happen  to 
you?" 

"Pshaw!  Not  exactly  disagreeable.  On 
reaching  the  town  hall,  Leto  congratulated 
me  in  a  certain  meaning  way.  Then  pres- 
ently, half  way  through  the  meeting,  I  had 
to  interfere  on  account  of  Sr.  Joaco's  quota, 
which  the  Becerriles  wanted  to  fix  at  two 
hundred  pesetas." 

"The  wretches!" 

"Basing  this  on  the  fact  that  he  has  asked 
don  Senin  seven  thousand  dollars  for  the  or- 
chard." 

"Twice  what  it's  worth." 

"That  is  what  I  pointed  out.  Then  Leto 
said  things  to  me."  .  .  . 


190  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

"Threats?" 

"I  did  not  understand  what  he  meant.  By 
his  tone  they  seemed  threats.  I  paid  no  at- 
tention to  him,  because  it  was  clear  that  he 
was  pretty  hot,  and  did  not  know  what  he  was 
saying." 

''Lord,  Lord!  What  a  ruffian!  Don't  you 
be  afraid  of  him,  because,  after  all,  what  can 
he  do  to  you?" 

"That's  what  I  am  thinking:  what  can  he 
do?" 

"Well,  anyway,  be  on  your  guard,  they  are 
such  brutes." 

They  were  silent  for  a  long  time. 

"You  are  going,  you  are  going".  .  .  sud- 
denly murmured  dona  Predestinacion,  her 
eyes  moist,  and  referring  to  the  wedding. 

"Come,  come,  ma'am.  I'm  going  and  I'm 
staying.  I  am  going  away  from  this  house 
but  don't  you  suppose  I  don't  feel  sorry  about 
it. 

"Of  course  I  know  that,  my  son." 

"But  I  am  just  a  few  steps  away.  You 
surely  will  be  over  every  day  to  see  us." 

"I  should  go  very  gladly;  but  Sr.  Joaco  is 
so  rough." 

With  his  mouth  full,  and  his  paint-box  in 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  191 

his  hand,  Castor  went  off  to  his  sweetheart's. 
As  soon  as  she  was  alone,  dona  Predestinacion 
burst  into  tears. 

Balbina  was  waiting  at  the  window. 

"I  was  getting  impatient  about  you." 

"Oh,  but  you  see  the  meeting  lasted  a  long 
time  and  ended  very  badly." 

The  grandfather  made  Castor  tell  him  in  de- 
tail all  about  the  meeting.  When  he  heard 
what  concerned  him,  he  rose  to  his  feet  with 
his  fists  clenched,  and,  looking  at  a  rifle  hang- 
ing on  the  wall,  exclaimed: 

"Just  so  sure  as  that  skunk  tries  to  put  any 
such  quota  over  on  me,  I'll  settle  him!" 

"Holy  Mother!"  said  Balbina.  "Be  easy, 
Grandpa,  everything  will  be  fixed  all  right. 
Why  should  we  get  all  upset  to-day?  Let's 
see,  how  are  we  going  to  spend  the  afternoon? 
What  you  like  best,  Grandpa,  is  to  play  cards 
over  at  the  school  teacher's  house." 

"And  leave  you  alone  at  home?  What 
would  people  say?" 

Castor,  his  face  crimson,  hastened  to  ex- 
plain : 

"We  will  go  on  ahead.  We  must  be  out 
in  the  fresh  air  to  enjoy  fully  this  Sunday 
sunshine.  I  shall  paint." 


192  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

"Who  will  go  with  you?" 

"Don't  you  suppose  that  as  we  are  to  be 
married  this  week  we  might  go  out  alone, 
without  scandal?" 

The  old  man  was  not  long  in  being  con- 
vinced. His  love  for  card  games  helped  him 
no  little  to  easy  conviction  upon  this  point. 

Castor  and  Balbina  went  down  into  the 
garden  back  of  the  house,  and  from  there  out 
into  the  country.  They  reached  the  apple  or- 
chard about  the  Chapel  of  the  Redeemer. 
They  were  on  the  slope  of  a  hill,  covered  with 
short,  velvety,  bright  green  grass,  planted 
with  many  apple-trees,  in  flower  at  that  sea- 
son, and  falling  away  gently  to  the  river.  The 
lovers  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  Castor  made 
ready  to  paint.  The  river,  which  was  very  full 
and  deep,  produced  a  sustained,  profound 
sound.  Through  the  apple-trees,  all  clothed 
in  white,  they  caught  glimpses  of  the  Chapel, 
with  its  porch  of  childlike  architecture,  its 
heavily  barred  door,  and  within,  a  little  golden 
light  which  quivered  in  the  shadow. 

At  the  same  time  that  he  painted,  Castor 
dreamed  aloud,  with  his  heart  turned  towards 
the  future. 

"I'll  go  in  for  competitive  examinations  for 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  193 

a  place  as  judge,"  he  was  saying  to  Balbina. 
"I  shall  be  a  judge,  a  magistrate,  president 
of  the  council  of  judges,  president  of  the  dis- 
trict court.  You  will  be  the  wife  of  the  presi- 
dent. What  do  you  think?" 

And  Balbina,  enraptured,  soared  upwards 
at  his  side,  and  no  whit  behind  him.  Together 
they  traversed  the  tenuous  regions  of  day- 
dreams. Thus  passed  two  hours. 

"Do  you  know,  Balbina,  I  have  discovered 
that  I  am  making  progress  with  my  painting? 
Any  day  I  may  turn  out  to  be  a  great  artist. 
I  prefer  this  to  being  president  of  the  district 
court.  What  do  you  think  of  this  picture  I 
have  been  painting?" 

"I  like  it  better  than  the  real  things  from 
which  you  have  taken  it." 

"But  has  the  painting  Sunday  sunlight? 
That  is  the  essential  thing.  Listen:  all  that 
about  being  an  artist  consists  in  distinguishing 
the  light  of  each  day  of  the  week,  more  than 
in  distinguishing  colors.  Who  isn't  able  to  tell 
red  from  blue,  and  blue  from  yellow?  But 
there  are  very  few  who  can  distinguish  Sun- 
day sunlight  from  the  light  of  Friday  or  of 
Wednesday.  Do  you  suppose  that  to  divide 
time  up  into  the  seven  days  of  the  week  was 


194  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

only  a  whim  of  almanac  makers?  Nothing  of 
the  sort.  It  was  no  more  of  a  caprice  than  to 
separate  the  rainbow  into  seven  colors.  Things 
are  as  they  are,  only  we  are  all  so  long  about 
seeing  into  them.  The  sun  on  week  days  gives 
a  light  that  illuminates  and  even  gives  warmth, 
but  it  does  not  vivify.  On  week  days  the  sun 
does  not  look  towards  the  earth." 

"Explain  to  me  how  that  is." 

"Very  simple.  Has  it  never  happened  to 
you  that  the  eyes  of  a  person  are  fixed  on 
you,  and,  nevertheless,  you  find  out  presently 
that  the  person  was  not  looking  at  you,  but 
was  looking  in  your  direction,  only  farther, 
ever  so  much  farther?" 

"That's  so." 

"Well,  it's  the  same  with  the  sun.  On 
week  days  it  seems  to  be  looking  at  the  earth, 
but  it  is  looking  much  farther.  Possibly  it 
looks  at  a  different  planet  each  day.  For  the 
rest  of  the  planets  it  is  an  empty,  soulless 
look.  But  on  Sunday,  the  sun  looks  at  the 
earth,  its  glance  penetrates  the  pores  of  the 
earth,  it  is  bathed  in  light,  and  everything 
thrills." 

"This  depends  somewhat  on  whether  it  is 
cloudy  or  clear,  don't  you  suppose?" 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  195 

"Not  at  all.  I  shall  give  you  as  an  example 
the  contrary  of  what  I  told  you  before. 
Haven't  you  experienced  some  time  with  all 
certainty  that  some  one  was  looking  at  you 
behind  your  back?  You  can't  see  the  one  who 
is  behind  you,  but  you  know  he  is  looking  at 

you." 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  very  strange." 

'Tis  the  same  with  Sunday  sunlight,  al- 
though it  is  cloudy.  We  can't  see  the  sun,  but 
we  know  it  is  looking  at  us." 

"It  may  also  be  that  .  .  ." 

"I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say:  that  on 
week  days  we  work,  and  on  Sunday  rest ;  isn't 
that  so?" 

"Yes." 

"Lots  of  times  I  have  had  to  work  on  Sun- 
day. The  light  was  the  same  light  to  me;  the 
same  light,  full  of  life,  and  penetrating  as  a 
look.  Since  I  have  been  in  Cenciella  I  have 
scarcely  worked  on  any  week  day  and  yet  the 
light  of  the  week  days  seems  to  me  wearisome, 
absent-minded,  far  away,  as  if  it  were  not 
really  for  me.  Don't  you  agree  with  me?" 

"How  do  I  know?  You  are  wise,  and  have 
read  a  lot.  I  am  a  poor  village  girl." 

"This  impression  about  Sunday  sunshine  I 


196  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

have  had  ever  since  I  was  a  child.  I  used  to 
feel  so  bad,  so  bad  on  Sunday  afternoons. 
Others  took  leave  of  the  sun  on  that  day 
as  on  all  other  days,  until  the  day  following, 
but  I  said  good-by  to  it  for  a  whole  week, 
until  the  following  Sunday." 

The  sun  was  setting  now.  The  snowy  apple 
blossoms  were  tinted  with  rose.  A  round 
sheaf  of  sunbeams  from  the  setting  sun 
gleamed  parallel  to  the  earth  between  two 
trees,  resting  like  a  lance  of  burnished  copper 
on  the  forks  made  by  the  separating  branches. 
A  star  looked  out  from  the  face  of  heaven, 
blinking  at  the  little  light  before  the  blessed 
Sacrament,  which  now  shone  forth  more 
bravely,  and  which  seemed  to  have  come  down 
to  peep  through  the  door. 

"What  peace!  What  beauty!  And  what 
sorrow  of  nature!  .  .  ." 

"Why  sorrow,  Castor?" 

"Because  the  Sunday  sunlight  is  dying,  is 
dying,  and  all  things  divine  that  it  is  going, 
never  to  return.  Not  even  next  Sunday: 
never,  never  will  it  return.  For  the  blossoms 
on  these  apple  trees  it  is  the  last  Sunday,  be- 
cause next  Sunday,  they  will  be  no  more.  For 
the  water  of  the  river,  it  is  the  last  Sunday, 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  197 

for  on  next  Sunday,  other  waters  will  have 
taken  their  place.  There  will  be  another  light 
in  the  Chapel.  We  shall  be  different  our- 
selves. This  Sunday  is  our  last  Sunday." 

"As  man  and  maid,"  whispered  Balbina,  her 
eyes  downcast. 

"Soon  we  shall  not  be  two,  we  shall  be  one. 
How  I  love  you,  my  dearest!" 

"How  I  love  you,  my  Castor!" 

The  band  could  be  heard  in  the  distance 
playing  a  strident  waltz  with  a  great  many 
brasses.  The  river  rolled  on,  with  a  strange 
noise  as  if  a  heavenly  body  were  passing 
through  the  neighboring  air. 

Balbina  and  Castor,  abstracted  in  their  con- 
templation of  each  other,  failed  to  notice  that 
a  number  of  men  were  approaching.  One  of 
them  came  forward  to  the  spot  where  the 
lovers  were  sitting.  It  was  Longinos,  the 
aged  rascal,  aid  and  jester  of  the  Becerriles. 

"Those  gentlemen,  my  masters,  wish  to 
speak  to  you,  Mr.  Secretary." 

"Don't  go,  don't  go.  We'll  run  away,  we 
will  shout  out,"  whispered  Balbina  in  her 
lover's  ear,  and  tremblingly  seizing  his  arm. 

"Why  not,  silly?"  replied  Castor,  smiling 
and  rising. 


198  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

"Don't  you  worry,  little  girl,  there  is  no 
question  of  doing  harm,  but  of  doing  a  favor." 

Castor  approached  the  seven  Becerriles,  who 
were  waiting  for  him  with  their  eyes  averted, 
and  their  hands  in  the  pockets  of  their  trou- 
sers. When  he  was  beside  them,  three  of  them 
seized  him  from  behind,  and  bound  his  hands. 
Castor  did  not  make  any  movement  of  self- 
defense.  He  seemed  not  in  possession  of  his 
senses.  He  was  not  able  to  understand  what 
they  intended  doing  to  him.  With  a  voice 
sorrowful  but  steady  he  asked: 

"Have  I  ever  harmed  you  by  word,  by  deed, 
or  even  in  intention?  Then  why  do  you  do 
this  to  me?  Don't  you  understand  that  that 
poor  woman  must  be  in  terror  to  see  all  this? 
Why  do  you  make  her  suffer?" 

Without  replying,  they  covered  his  mouth 
with  a  handkerchief  which  they  tied  at  the 
back  of  his  neck.  Then  they  tied  him  to  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  turning  his  face  towards  a 
spot  where  three  other  Becerriles  had  Balbina 
also  bound  and  gagged.  They  brought  Bal- 
bina to  within  a  few  paces  of  Castor,  who  could 
not  comprehend  what  they  were  about.  They 
threw  her  on  the  ground,  the  eight  of  them, 
without  saying  a  word.  Balbina  was  fighting 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  199 

with  such  desperation  that  they  could  not  over- 
come her.  They  struggled  to  keep  her  quiet, 
growling  out  heavy  oaths,  until  the  girl  was 
exhausted,  and  like  one  dead. 

"You,  Longinos,  go  station  yourself  on  the 
watch  lest  some  one  suddenly  come  upon  us," 
ordered  Leto. 

The  waltz  composed  by  Deogracias  Alpaca 
could  still  be  heard. 

And  one  after  the  other,  the  seven  violated 
Balbina,  before  the  face  of  Castor.  The  girl 
had  lost  consciousness.  Castor  had  his  eyes 
riveted  on  the  little  sanctuary  light.  In  his 
head,  empty  of  all  thought,  there  were  only 
four  words,  repeated  ceaselessly  in  time  with 
the  furious  hammering  of  his  temples :  "Bless- 
ed Savior,  protect  her!  Blessed  Savior,  pro- 
tect her!" 

•        ••••••• 

Leto  took  off  the  handkerchief  which 
gagged  Castor  and  said  to  him: 

"I  hope  that  for  the  good  of  all  concerned 
nothing  of  this  will  be  found  out.  Good-by. 
We  wish  you  a  happy  honeymoon." 

One  of  the  Becerriles,  Doro,  took  a  notion 
that  the  adventure  needed  some  picturesque 
and  pointed  ending.  He  crowned  the  insult 


200  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

with  ridicule,  taking  Castor's  palette  and 
painting  his  nose  and  cheeks  red,  like  those  of 
a  clown. 

"You  infamous  scoundrel!  God  forgive 
you!"  mumbled  Castor,  looking  at  him  wrath- 
fully,  and  presently  lowering  his  eyes. 

Doro  remained  looking  at  him  some  mo- 
ments as  if  doubting  whether  to  strike  him. 
Considering  it  preferable,  he  arched  his  eye- 
brows, cast  a  sidelong  look  at  him,  turned  his 
back  contemptuously  and  went  and  joined  the 
rest,  lazily  and  carelessly,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  his  countenance  haughty. 

It  was  dusk. 

When  Balbina  came  to  herself,  she  sat  up 
on  the  grass,  passed  her  hands  over  her  eyes, 
rose  to  her  feet  and  ran  like  one  demented 
towards  the  river.  Castor  realized  that  she 
was  going  to  throw  herself  into  the  water. 
Gathering  all  his  strength,  he  shouted  in 
anguish : 

"Balbina!  Balbina!  Balbina!  For  the  love 
of  God,  I  beseech  you  to  come  and  untie 
me." 

Balbina  stopped,  then  took  one  step  after 
another  up  the  slope,  with  her  head  hanging, 
as  if  broken,  on  her  breast.  She  came  up  to 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  201 

Castor,  and  little  by  little  unbound  him.  But 
before  she  could  finish  she  fell  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree.  Once  more  she  had  fainted.  Castor 
freed  himself  altogether  and  bent  over  the 
beloved  form  of  his  sweetheart,  lying  with- 
ered and  huddled  before  him.  He  took  her  in 
his  arms  weeping.  He  pressed  her  madly 
against  his  bosom.  He  kissed  her  in  a  frenzy. 
And  those  kisses  were  the  first  he  had  ever 
given  her. 

Balbina  began  to  recover  consciousness.  She 
opened  her  eyes  languidly.  With  fluttering 
breath,  she  ventured  to  ask: 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  me?" 

"Oh,  Balbina!" 

Her  voice  was  almost  gone. 

"How  can  you  love  me  any  more?" 

"More  than  ever,  more  than  ever!  More 
than  ever,  my  lily!  My  pure  lily!"  he  has- 
tened to  respond,  his  words  rushing  over  one 
another,  carried  away  by  love  and  grief,  and 
drawing  the  fair  head  of  his  beloved  to  his 
heart,  with  eagerness,  yet  as  careful  not  to 
bruise  her,  as  if  indeed  she  had  been  a  lily. 


\7        Up  to  the  throne  of  the  king 

The  commons  art  thronging. 

An  old  man  speaks  for  them  all; 

These  words  he  utters: 

King,  we  are  begging  for  justice 

Upon  the  seven  ravishers, 

For  a  king  who  fails  to  execute  justice 

Has  no  right  to  live  in  royal  state, 

Nor  ride  out  upon  his  horse. 

Nor  possess  his  queen. 

We  are  the  kingdom, 

Not  you,  Sire,  nor  your  nobles. 

We  are  body  and  soul,  deeds  and  words, 

Voice  and  action. 

We    gather    from    vines    wine    that    distends    your 
wine-skins, 

We  procure  oil  for  your  jars, 

Wheat  for  your  barns. 

We  spin  that  you  may  be  clothed, 

We  build  houses, 

High  towers. 

For  you  the  minstrels  sing,  the  troubadours. 

Forests  of  oak,  to  keep  you  safe, 

Are  made  into  spears. 

For  your  defense   peasants   learn 

To  be  men-at-arms, 

And  thus  you,  the  King, 

Reward  our  service! 

We  suffer  under  wicked  governors, 

Our  daughters,  our  homes  despoiled  .  .  .  «vil  gov- 
ernors, 

Thieves! 

The  king  has  answered: 

Look  upon  me 

Most  sorrowful  of  men! 

Not  even  the  crown  is  mint; 

I  live  like  a  prisoner. 

It  is  they  who  rule  the  kingdom,  evil  governors! 

You,  faithful  vassals,  sharpen  your  reaping-hooks! 

Gather  a  fitting  harvest  .  ,  .  the  heads  of  traitors! 


HAT  Sunday  afternoon,  about 
five  o'clock,  the  seven  Becer- 
riles  and  their  footman,  Lon- 
ginos,  riding  upon  their  nags 
and  mules,  had  crossed  the  pub- 
lic square  of  Cenciella.  They  had  stopped  to 
say,  now  to  one,  now  to  another  that  they  were 
going  at  once  to  the  Tabardina  mountains  to 
an  antelope  hunt  which  would  last  more  than  a 
week.  Thus  they  had  prepared  an  alibi.  On 
Sunday  afternoons  the  entire  village  was  ac- 
customed to  gather  in  the  square  to  enjoy  the 
music,  dancing,  and  other  merrymaking.  Be- 
yond the  town,  the  Becerriles  left  their  mounts 
in  a  wild,  deserted  spot  and  went  in  search  of 
Castor  and  Balbina.  Their  deed  consum- 
mated, they  mounted  once  more  and  went 
away,  boasting  loudly  of  their  success.  In 
this  way  nobody  in  the  village  had  found  out, 
or  suspected  what  had  come  to  pass. 

Balbina  had  reached  home  before  her  grand- 
father, and  had  gone  to  bed.     When  the  old 

203 


204  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

man  came  in,  the  girl  dissembled  as  well  as 
she  was  able,  and  said  hers  was  an  illness  that 
amounted  to  very  little.  As  Sunday  was  a 
day  of  much  disturbance  and  uproar  in  the 
tavern,  Castor  succeeded  in  carrying  things  off 
without  arousing  the  suspicions  of  dona  Pre- 
destinacion.  The  days  that  remained  before 
the  wedding,  Balbina  continued  sick,  but  Cas- 
tor refused  to  put  off  the  marriage.  No  sooner 
were  they  married,  than  they  took  a  carriage 
and  went  away  to  a  little  town  on  the  sea. 
There  they  remained  twelve  days.  When 
they  came  back,  Balbina  was  more  animated, 
stronger.  They  returned  to  Cenciella  after 
dark.  When  supper  was  over,  Balbina  with- 
drew to  rest  from  the  fatigue  of  the  journey. 
Castor  and  Sr.  Joaco  remained  alone. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  the  old  man 
said,  his  face  working,  his  eyes  ablaze,  his 
voice  thick. 

"Do  you  really  know  all  about  it  already?" 

"The  whole  town  knows  it.  That  mangy 
old  Longinos  told  it  in  Parrulo's  tavern." 

"Oh,  my  poor  Balbina!"  moaned  Castor, 
uplifting  his  eyes. 

"And  poor  you,  and  poor  me.  All  of  us,  all 
of  us,  all  of  us." 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  205 

"Oh,  my  poor  Balbina!  Is  there  no  justice 
in  heaven?" 

"Heaven  is  up  very  high.  In  its  affairs  we 
have  no  right  to  meddle,  we  who  live  down 
here.  Down  here,  it  is  well  known  that  there 
is  no  justice  except  what  we  get  for  ourselves. 
I  should  have  killed  every  last  one  of  them," 
declared  the  old  man,  with  unmistakable  ve- 
racity, fixing  his  furious  eyes  upon  the  rifle. 

"No,  no.    That  would  be  to  slay  her." 

"Vengeance,  before  all  else." 

"Before  all  else,  Balbina." 

"If  I  have  delayed,  it  is  because  I  consider 
it  impossible  to  succeed  in  killing  all  of  them, 
one  after  another.  Therefore,  the  only  thing 
to  do  is  to  deliver  them  over  to  justice  and 
get  out  of  them  a  ruinous  fine." 

"Yes,  and  the  matter  goes  before  the  court, 
she  is  made  to  relate  the  whole  horrible  oc- 
currence, with  her  own  lips,  to  the  judge, 
and  to  the  jury,  and  then  the  publicity,  and 
the  newspapers.  .  .  ."  He  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands.  "Don't  you  see  that  this  would  kill 
her?" 

"Well?" 

"I  don't  know  how,  but  the  only  way  is 
to  make  Balbina  forget." 


206  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

"What  difference  does  it  make  if  she  for- 
gets. Dishonor  is  never  wiped  out  although 
one  forgets,  if  others  remember  it." 

"But  is  she  dishonored?  They  are  the  ones 
that  are  dishonored." 

"All  of  us." 

"No,  a  thousand  times  no." 

"But  she,  surely,  feels  herself  dishonored, 
as  I  do.  And  if  you  don't  feel  the  same,  it  is 
that  you  have  no  blood  in  your  veins." 

"I  have  a  broken  heart,  Sr.  Joaco,  but  my 
reason  remains  unclouded.  I  realize  the 
enormity  of  our  misfortune,  but  I  cannot  ad- 
mit that  it  is  irreparable,  as  you  think,  .  .  . 
and  as  Balbina  thinks,  although  she  has  not 
dared  to  tell  me  so.  They  break  the  wings 
of  a  white  dove  and  it  can  fly  no  more.  Oh, 
what  an  irremediable  sorrow !  It  can  never  fly 
again.  The  mirror  in  which  I  see  myself 
reflected  is  broken  into  a  thousand  fragments. 
That  is  something  past  repair.  That  is  past 
repair.  But  the  soul  of  Balbina,  unblemished 
dove  which  I  adore,  spotless  mirror  in  which 
I  behold  myself,  it  seems  as  if  it  were  broken 
and  maimed,  but  it  is  not,  it  cannot  be.  One 
day  it  will  fly  as  before.  One  day  I  shall 
see  myself  in  it  as  before.  The  sting  of  the 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  207 

viper  can  be  cured.  And  are  the  outrages 
of  the  wicked  to  remain  unhealed?" 

And  while  he  spoke,  he  wept,  overcome 
with  tenderness. 

At  this  moment  there  was  heard  out  of 
doors  a  horrible  tumult  and  roar  of  cowbells 
and  tin  cans  furiously  pounded.  The  town 
was  entertaining  itself  with  a  tin  pan  serenade 
to  the  lovers,  addressing  to  them  at  the  same 
time  coarse  and  dirty  jokes. 

Senor  Joaco  grasped  the  rifle,  leaped  to  the 
window  and  fired.  Castor,  who  rushed  after 
him,  succeeded  in  turning  his  aim  so  that  the 
shot  went  upwards. 

The  serenaders  scattered  uproariously.  But 
a  furious  cry  resounded  above  the  din.  Castor 
leaned  over  the  window  sill  and  saw  dona 
Predestinacion  disheveled  and  beside  her- 
self. With  stick  borne  aloft  she  was  pursu- 
ing a  group  of  lads,  and  as  she  ran  she  be- 
labored them  as  she  could,  shouting  out: 

"Hogs!  Cowards!  Low-down  wretches! 
And  you  wear  breeches?  Why  don't  you  go 
to  the  Becerriles,  and  drag  them  about,  and 
skin  them  alive?" 


«I 


\71        Marred  and  broken  vessel 
Never  brims  with  water; 
Rose  trodden  under  foot 
Is  earth,  not  flower; 
Water  that  turned  millstones 
Grinds  not  for  to-day; 
No  swallow  climbs  the  air 
With  broken  wings. 
The  sun  a  year  ago 
Went  down  the  west  .  .  . 
To-day   another  sunrise  .   •  . 
80  it  goes. 

Once  lop  the  tail  of  a  dog, 
Bob-tailed  he  remains; 
A  maiden  once  defamed 
Is  no  longer  maiden. 
Though  they  saw  off  the  cuckold's  horns 
H«  is  just  the  same  .   .   . 

This  is  a  blind  man's  song; 

From  door  to  door 

Hoarsely,   loudly   he  sang 

In  bitter  mood. 

There  was  a  girl  who  heard, 

Fainting  with  grief: 

Gently  her  lover  kissed  her, 

Tears  in  his  heart: 

She  was  to  bear  a  child, 

Unhappy  mother! 

Oh,  would  it  be  the  child 

Of  a  ravish«r? 


VI 


HE  mayor,  crafty  and  long- 
headed, saw  immediately  that 
if  the  Chorizos  took  upon  their 
own  account  as  a  political  ques- 
tion, the  outrage  to  Balbina,  the 
era  of  the  Becerriles  in  Cenciella  was  at  an  end 
forever.  As  he  was  a  man  with  con- 
siderable influence  in  the  capital,  he  set  to 
work  with  extreme  diligence  to  remove 
the  young  couple  from  Cenciella.  Two 
days  after  the  kettle-serenade,  Castor  was 
named  a  member  of  the  provincial  deputation 
of  Pilares.  Castor  and  his  wife  and  the  old 
man  hastened  to  leave  the  town.  They  in- 
stalled themselves  in  a  little  house  in  the 
outskirts  of  Pilares.  Castor  spent  the  morn- 
ings in  the  office.  In  the  afternoons  he  took 
his  wife  out  to  walk.  At  first,  in  the  country 
round  about,  but  the  landscape  recalled  the 
landscape  of  Cenciella  and  it  tortured  them 
to  see  it.  Thereafter  they  took  their  walks 
through  solitary  and  deserted  streets.  Bal- 

209 


210  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

bina  was  ever  sorrowful.  She  continued  to  be 
the  white  dove  with  broken  wings.  Often 
would  Castor  draw  his  hand  over  her  fore- 
head, with  gentle  eagerness,  as  if  he  wanted 
to  uproot  from  her  memory  the  weeds  of  bitter 
recollections.  Balbina  would  murmur  grate- 
fully: "Your  hand  is  soft  and  caressing  like 
an  angel's  wing,  but  not  even  the  wings  of 
angels  can  cleanse  my  memory." 

The  sadness  of  Balbina  was  reflected  in 
Castor  and  their  grandfather.  Sorrow  in- 
creased when  there  were  unmistakable  signs 
that  a  baby  was  coming.  The  very  uncer- 
tainty of  its  paternity  gnawed  at  each  one  of 
them,  even  though  not  one  ventured  to  con- 
fess this  to  the  other. 

Castor's  office  mates  were  not  long  in  dis- 
covering the  secret  of  his  life.  Rare  was  the 
morning  that  he  did  not  discover  within  his 
portfolio  caricatures  and  rhymes  that  alluded 
to  it.  He  bore  everything  with  resignation 
so  long  as  the  news  did  not  reach  his  neigh- 
borhood. One  day,  his  grandfather  gave  him, 
with  a  great  air  of  mystery  a  local  newspaper, 
growling  wrathfully: 

"Curse  the  wretched  scribbler!  .  .  ." 

In  the  paper  a  provincial  journalist  had 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  211 

related  the  outrage  in  the  orchard  of  the 
Chapel,  not  in  the  Castilian  manner  of  the 
poem  of  the  Cid,  but  imitating  the  ironic  and 
lascivious  style  of  Boccaccio.  And  the  new 
affront  spread  as  far  as  the  neighborhood  in 
which  Castor  and  Balbina  were  living. 

Castor  decided  to  seek,  through  Gazettes 
and  Bulletins,  some  secretaryship  in  a  remote 
town.  At  last  he  found  one,  in  Tejeros,  a 
little  town  of  Tier r a  de  Campos.  He  applied 
and  waited. 

The  day  of  Balbina' s  delivery  was  drawing 
near.  Sr.  Joaco  called  Castor  aside. 

"We  must  look  for  a  midwife." 

"A  doctor  would  be  better." 

"No,  no.    A  midwife.    I'll  see  to  it." 

In  Sr.  Joaco's  eyes  were  gleaming  dire 
omens.  He  added: 

"What  have  you  thought  of  doing  with 
what  is  born?" 

"I,  the  fact  is  ...  I  haven't  thought  about 
anything,"  stammered  Castor. 

"You  never  think  about  anything,  Castor." 

And  a  boy  was  born.  The  mother,  warned 
by  some  hidden  presentiment,  refused  to  have 
the  child  leave  her  side,  and  would  allow  no 
one  to  handle  it. 


212  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

Outside  the  room,  the  old  man  was  whisper- 
ing to  Castor. 

"In  any  case,  we  must  make  that  child  dis- 
appear." 

"I  will  not  consent  to  it,  Sr.  Joaco.  I  won't 
consent  to  it.  It  would  be  a  crime.  Poor 
mother!" 

"And  you  say  that?  That's  what  I  should 
say,  for  the  child,  after  all  is  said  and  done, 
is  my  blood.  .  .  .  But  you?" 

"He  is  Balbina's  child,  and  that  is  enough. 
And  besides  how  is  the  poor  girl  to  blame?" 

In  spite  of  his  murderous  designs,  the  old 
grandfather  immediately  took  to  the  little  one, 
and,  harsh  and  gruff  though  he  was,  he  became 
bothersome,  overfond,  and  sentimental.  Cas- 
tor suffered  more  than  ever.  He  wanted  to 
love  the  child,  and  imagined  that  he  could 
not  do  it.  He  did  not  wish  to  love  him,  and 
imagined  he  cared  for  him  in  spite  of  himself. 
And  now  it  was  Balbina  who  drew  her  hand 
over  his  forehead  with  mute  sympathy. 

The  secretaryship  of  Tejeros  was  granted 
to  Castor  when  Balbina  was  on  the  way  to 
recovery.  They  determined  to  start  at  once. 
In  the  bustle  of  the  final  moments  and  when 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  213 

the  last  of  their  belongings  were  packed  up, 
Balbina  asked  Castor: 

"Don't  you  want  to  help  me  dress  the  baby 
to  save  time?" 

She  had  him  on  her  lap,  naked  from  the 
waist  down,  whimpering  and  kicking  up  his 
little  rosy  legs.  Castor  bent  over  him  over- 
whelmed with  bitter-sweet  emotion.  Suddenly 
he  turned  pale.  He  tried  to  talk  but  could  not 
say  a  word. 

"Castor,  Castor!"  Balbina  besought  him, 
"Are  you  ill?" 

Castor  was  making  signs  to  his  grandfather 
to  approach  and  when  he  was  by,  commenced 
to  unfasten  his  waistcoat,  raise  his  shirt,  and 
then  his  undershirt  until  he  had  laid  bare  his 
side.  With  his  finger,  he  pointed  to  a  crim- 
son mark,  of  toothed  outline,  like  the  leaf  of 
a  carnation.  Then  he  pointed  to  a  similar 
mark  which  the  child  also  had  upon  his  side. 
And  he  kissed  his  wife  and  son  with  his  heart 
on  his  lips.  His  son! 


WJI        Green  lands  they  left  behind  them, 

Moist    valleys,    velvety    fields,    deep    groves    of 

chestnut, 

Black,  sullen  riven, 
Crags,  mountains. 
Gray  lands  they  left 
Where  the  sun  never  rises: 
And  subtle  mists  like  deceptive  dreams. 
They  look  not  back,  they  flee: 
They  flee  breathlessly. 
Memory's  ghosts  follow, 
Pursuing  them  .   .   .  closer  .   .   .  closer  .  .  . 
They  go  forth  into  broad  Castile 
Through   the  pass  of  Pinares; 
A  purple  and  golden  country  with  poppies  .  .  . 

wheatfields  .  .  . 

Castile  is  broad  under  a  silken  sky, 
Gleaming  blue  silk. 
No  ghosts  has  Castile:  no  mist. 
Everything  is  sunlight,  clear,  serene: 
The  sun  of  justice  makes  radiant 
Its  ochre  and  scarlet  fields. 
Sun  of  justice, 

God  grant  no  cruel  wind  out  of  the  north 
Blight  the  crops, 
Bring  with  it  hunger! 

Hunger  for  justice, 

Black  hunger, 

Hunger  not  to  be  satisfied! 


VII 


OW  happy  we  are!"  exclaimed 
Castor,  stretching  out  his  arms 
wide,  and  looking  upward. 

They  had  just  had  their  sup- 
per. For  more  than  a  year  they 
had  been  living  in  Tejeros,  beloved  and  re- 
spected by  all  their  fellow  townspeople.  Castor 
repeated: 

"How  happy  we  are!" 
"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Balbina,  forcing  herself 
to  feel  happy  above  measure.    "Never  did  I 
hope  to  be  so  happy  after  .  .  ." 

And  it  was  as  if  a  great  blackness  had  in- 
vaded the  room.  She  went  on  almost  in- 
audibly: 

"After  that  last  Sunday  of  our  real  life." 

"Hush,  hush,"  begged  the  old  man. 

"Why?    The  proof  that  we  are  almost  cured 

is  that  I  can  speak  of  it.     How  many  days, 

how  long  a  time,  to  think  of  it  set  my  head 

afire,  and  rather  than  mention  it,  I  should  have 

preferred  death.    Yes,  we  are  indeed  happy, 

215 


216  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

my  Castor,"  she  added,  pressing  his  hand; 
"but  there  has  been  no  Sunday  sunlight  shin- 
ing for  us  since." 

"It  will  shine  after  a  time,  Balbina.  Have 
trust  in  God." 

"Only  in  America  it  shines  always,"  grum- 
bled the  old  man. 

At  that  moment  a  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door. 

"Come  in!" 

The  village  doctor  walked  in. 

"How's  Joaquinito?  Still  asleep?  All  of 
you  well?"  He  sat  down,  mopping  the  per- 
spiration. "Judge  for  yourselves,  I'm  both- 
ered to  death.  ...  I  have  just  treated  a  trav- 
eling salesman  for  a  wound  in  the  head  which 
old  Uncle  Berrueco  gave  him.  He  is  a  sales- 
man for  a  cider  factory  in  Pilares." 

Sr.  Joaco,  Castor  and  Balbina  turned  white. 
Without  noticing,  the  doctor  went  on: 

"What  men  there  are!  Lord!  What  a  lot 
of  venomous  tongues!"  (He  was  talking  with 
his  eyes  downcast.)  "He  says  he  knows  you, 
not  by  sight,  but  by  name.  He  started  telling 
I  don't  know  what  story  in  the  tobacco  shop, 
and  Uncle  Berrueco,  who  was  listening — bang! 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  217 

at  the  very  first  whack  down  goes  the  story 
teller  with  a  broken  head." 

There  was  a  silence.  Balbina  broke  it  say- 
ing steadily: 

"What  that  man  related  is  true." 

The  doctor  rose  with  horror-stricken  eyes. 

"And  didn't  they  hang  the  seven  Becer- 
riles?"  and  he  extended  his  hands  towards 
Castor  and  Balbina  with  a  grave,  manly  ges- 
ture of  friendship.  "Oh,  my  poor  friends! 
What  a  tragedy!" 

At  this  moment  several  women  of  the  neigh- 
borhood entered  in  a  whirl.  They  ran  to  Bal- 
bina, embracing  and  kissing  her,  and  crying 
out  crossly: 

"What  a  shame!  What  a  shame!  The 
slanderer !" 

Balbina  began  to  feel  ill.  It  was  necessary 
to  put  her  to  bed.  The  neighbors  went  out 
silently. 

When  the  night  was  far  advanced,  Castor 
was  still  seated  near  the  fireplace,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  and  his  head  on  his  hands.  His 
grandfather  approached  him: 

"Listen,  Castor,  Do  you  know  what  I  have 
decided?  I  am  going  to  sell  my  property. 
For  the  garden  and  the  house  I'll  get  out  of 


218  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

the  mayor  of  Cenciella  seven  thousand  dollars. 
If  he  should  hold  back,  I'll  threaten  him  with 
having  every  one  of  his  followers  put  in 
jail.  Then  we  are  going  to  South  America 
to  live.  You  are  intelligent  and  honest.  You 
will  make  money  there.  Balbina  will  forget 
at  last.  Let  us  go  to  another  world,  to  a  world 
different  from  this  one;  let  us  go  far  away, 
far  away,  far  away,  far  away.  .  .  ." 


Will        Poor  monotonous  Castile  that  cannot  look  upon 

the  s«al 
Unfortunate  husbandman  farming  an  unfruitful 

waste! 

I  am  sorry  to  leave  you:  God  keep  you! 
Sober  people,  noble  people, 
Flower  of  a  grave  knighthood, 
What  sorrow  is  yours 
That  evil  has  entered  your  homes! 
Farewell  forever.    I  go  away;  but  whither? 
Always  farther  on  .   .  . 

Let  us  go  together:  scatter  salt  on  your  fields! 
Accursed  of  God  be  the  people 
That  accepts  ruin, 
Bows  the  neck  to  a  yoke, 
Mingles  tears  with  its  bread! 
Accursed  the  coward 
Who  yields   to   misrule! 
Let  the  governors  stay  apart, 
One  like  the  other! 

How  gayly  the  wind  blows, 

How  blue  and  white  the  sea! 

The  galleon  is  impatient   like  a  steed  ready-sad 

died. 

Sailors,  raise  anchor 
Shouting  for  joy  of  freedom. 
Sails  tremble  like  wings  eager  to  take  flight. 
Out  of  the  kingdom  of  lies  into  the  kingdom  of 

truth 
Take  the  wheel,  helmsman!    You,    lad,    cut    the 

cabltl 

The  ship  turns  toward  open  sea  .  .  . 
Into  Eternity  the  sails  .  ..  . 


VIII 


OW  is  the  ship  weighing  anchor. 
The  land  is  receding.  Balbina 
leans  her  head  upon  Castor's 
breast.  The  child  is  asleep  in 
the  old  man's  arms.  The  land 
is  growing  farther  and  farther  away.  The  land, 
that  accursed  land  that  weighed  like  doom  upon 
the  hearts  of  Castor  and  Balbina,  is  receding, 
is  dissolving,  is  vanishing.  Now  it  has  disap- 
peared. Hearts  take  a  great  breath.  It  is 
midday.  The  heavens  are  immaculate  and 
beautiful.  The  sun  looks  at  itself  in  the  sea, 
and  sinks  within  its  bosom. 

"How  beautiful  is  the  light!"  exclaims  Bal- 
bina. 

"What  day  is  to-day?  With  all  the  trials 
of  the  journey  I  had  lost  count,"  says  her 
grandfather. 

"I  have  not  lost  count.  To-day  is  Sunday," 
says  Castor. 

A  steward  walks  the  length  of  the  awning 
220 


SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT  221 

with  several  letters  in  his  hand,  the  addresses 
of  which  he  cries  out: 

"Justo  Matutee  .  .  .  Pedro  Gonzalez  y 
Gonzalez  .  .  .  Castor  Cagigal.  .  .  ." 

Castor  approaches  the  steward  with  his 
knees  shaking.  He  asks,  hesitating: 

"How  is  it  that  there  is  a  letter  for  me?" 

"In  the  last  packet  which  was  put  on  as 
the  ship  weighed  anchor." 

When  Castor  sees  the  envelope,  he  is  im- 
mediately calmed,  because  he  has  recognized 
the  writing  of  dona  Predestinacion.  He  reads 
the  letter  aloud  to  his  wife  and  grandfather: 

"Dear  Castor:  I  know  that  Sr.  Joaco  has 
been  here,  but  he  did  not  have  the  courtesy  to 
call  on  me.  He  has  no  manners.  I  know  too 
that  you  are  going  to  America.  Heartless  boy ! 
Why  didn't  you  write  and  tell  me  so?  May 
you  be  very  happy,  as  happy  as  you  deserve. 
Perhaps  Sr.  Joaco  has  told  you  that  the 
Becerriles  are  going  from  bad  to  worse,  and 
that  the  Chorizos  have  now  the  upper  hand. 
And  how  they  do  manage  things!  Since  you 
left  me,  I  have  missed  you  so.  ...  I  have 
loved  you  like  a  mother,  and  I  shall  love  you 
so  always.  At  this  moment  I  am  crying.  I 


222  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

have  been  so  lonely,  so  lonely,  that  I  have  been 
driven  to  make  a  resolution,  and  you  are  the 
first  person  I  have  confided  this  to.  You  must 
know  that  I  am  going  to  marry  Deogracias. 
When  one  knows  him  through  and  through,  he 
is  not  bad.  As  to  his  habit  of  spitting,  he 
has  improved  a  great  deal,  due  to  the  fact  that 
I  am  always  after  him.  He  hasn't  yet  learned 
to  spit  inside  the  spittoon,  for  that  I  know 
is  difficult,  but  every  day  he  spits  a  little 
closer.  After  all,  what's  a  childless,  lonely 
woman  to  do,  and  without  you,  her  only  son? 
May  God  bless  you,  may  God  bless  you !  Don't 
fail  to  write  me  from  America,  and  tell  me 
if  it  is  true,  as  they  say,  that  over  yonder 
the  women  go  about  the  streets  naked.  Good- 
by,  my  son.  Hugs  to  Balbina  and  the  baby, 
whom  I  shall  never  know  now.  My  heart  is 
breaking.  Good-by,  God  bless  you,  my  son. 
— Predestination  Sanchez." 

"That's  it,"  comments  the  old  grandfather, 
"love  to  all,  and  any  old  thing  for  me.  She  is 
the  one  who  hasn't  any  manners." 

A  passenger  sits  down  beside  them.  He 
offers  the  old  man  a  cigarette  and  asks: 

"Where  are  you  bound  for?" 


SUNDAT  SUNLIGHT  223 

"To  some  place  where  people  do  not  know 
us  or  what  we  are  leaving  behind,"  replied  the 
old  man  grumbling  discontentedly. 

"The  world  is  very  small,  and  news  travels 
everywhere  from  everywhere,"  says  the  stran- 
ger, leaning  back  in  the  canvas  chair  and  talk- 
ing to  himself. 

They  sailed  for  three  days.  That  morning 
Castor  had  risen  early  to  visit,  and  to  learn 
all  about  the  strange  interior  of  the  boat. 
On  crossing  the  steerage,  where  the  emigrants 
were  herded  together  in  a  mass,  he  heard  his 
name  called: 

"Don  Castor!    Don  Castor!" 

There  were  as  many  as  six  villagers  from 
Cenciella  with  their  wives  and  children. 

"We  fled  from  the  town.  Life  is  not  life 
there.  Of  course,  as  you  know,  things  went 
badly  when  the  Becerriles  had  things  their 
own  way.  You  certainly  know  that,  you  and 
poor  Balbina.  Well,  with  the  Chorizos,  things 


are  worse." 


Castor  wouldn't  say  anything  to  Balbina. 
He  felt  as  if  his  heart  were  becoming  poisoned 
from  perpetual  and  irretrievable  ignominy. 
So  he  said  nothing  to  Balbina,  but  she  dis- 
covered it  all  for  herself  two  days  afterward. 


224  SUNDAY  SUNLIGHT 

It  was  the  tenth  day  of  the  voyage.  Four 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  ship  struck  a 
rock,  and  ten  minutes  afterward,  the  sea  had 
devoured  it  as  fire  would  a  handful  of  hay. 
The  old  grandfather  and  the  baby  were  saved 
along  with  a  few  others.  Castor  and  Balbina 
let  themselves  go  down  gently,  locked  in  each 
other's  arms,  like  one  body.  And  so,  their 
souls  blended  in  one  exhalation,  they  winged 
their  flight  to  the  land  of  Infinite  Peace, 
where  Becerriles  and  Chorizos  exist  not,  and 
where  beams  eternally  the  pure  and  uncreated 
sunlight  of  Sunday. 


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